


You Will Be Found

by CinnamonrollStark



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Aged-Up Character(s), Aging, Angst, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Married Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Old Age, Outer Space, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Cries, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Endgame, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Thor Friendship, Steve Rogers Feels, Time Skips, Tony Stark Cries, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2019-10-29 23:52:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 29,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17817905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonrollStark/pseuds/CinnamonrollStark
Summary: For Peter, it's been ten years since Mister Stark became stranded and was declared dead to the public.For Tony, it's been two weeks. Two weeks on an isolated, alien planet, where time moves much slower.It's all Peter ever wanted, to get him back, but everything is different now.





	1. Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Second story on here. I had a new idea midway through a chapter of Fall in to the Sky, and decided to use it for a new WIP. Forgive me lol I have the attention span of a mouse.  
> Okay, well, please enjoy! This one is much angstier.

525,600,000 minutes.  _Just like the song_. Well, not quite. Ten years without Tony. Peter cleared his throat and downed the shot, swallowing the sharp, hot pain that it sent across his tongue. A burst of air clattered in his lungs, the instinctive cough that always followed hard liquor. Peter smiled at the bartender, a cute, African-American woman about his age. She returned the gesture.

"Can I get another?" He asked, although he wasn't sure he wanted one. "Get it right to you," she said, glossy lips spreading in a grin. "Just a second." Peter nodded and thanked her.  _Kate,_ read her name tag. For a moment, he thought about asking her out- she was attractive, fit, young- until he noticed the ring. Married, as most of the women his age were. He'd tried that once, with MJ. It had been lovely while it lasted. 

After her death, he hadn't felt like trying again. 

Every person Peter got close to died, and he'd become numb to it. Tony, Ned, MJ. Peter swallowed the bitter taste.  _May_. The least shocking of his losses but perhaps the most painful. He'd watched his aunt whither away, and her Early Onset Dementia had eaten her brain until there was nothing left. 

She'd been better, that day. Remembered him for a fleeting second. And she'd gone to take a nap. She never woke up.

Kate set the glass down in front of him with a jolting clank. Peter touched the rim, twirled his finger around the edge. He took it, raised it to the ghost of Mister Stark, and swallowed the shot. This time, he didn't cough. He let it burn.

~*~

Hot water ran in rivulets down Peter's back. He sat, facing away from the stream, naked knees tucked under his chin, hugging himself as the shower rained down on him. Strands of overgrown, chestnut hair clung to his face, tangled in his fluttering eyelashes. Steam exhaled from the bathwater, blurring blue bottles of shampoo in the corner. 

Peter didn't have the energy to stand, to actually wash himself. He just let it soak him through, to turn his pale skin red. Music played from a bluetooth speaker on the counter- Hans Zimmer. The ebb and flow of the orchestra drowned out his stifled sobs as he curled up even tighter on the floor.

Ten years. Ten years to grow, and here he was, reverting into adolescent weepiness. When he was through, he turned the knob and leaned against the wall as the shower slowly simmered down. 

He took a rag, wiped condensation from the mirror, and glared at his reflection. He hardly looked any older, save his broadened shoulders and slightly taller frame. Perhaps his jaw was a bit tighter, his eyes a bit sadder, but not much had changed.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, beads of water running through his fingers. Ten years without his mentor, and what did he have to show for it? He was still open and hurting, a wound that could never heal. What if Tony were to come back today? Ten years of weeping and anger and loss, so much loss. Maybe it was a good thing, that Tony was gone. 

The sun was a little dimmer, the earth a little colder. And yes, there was some good left: Pepper, months after her husband's disappearance, delivered a healthy, beautiful set of twins. Steve Rogers publically came out as Bisexual, and recently got engaged with his best friend. And the snap, well, it had been completely reversed. It was such a shame that Mister Stark would never get to see the world returned to its proper state.

But whether or not some wonder had been brought back into the world, Tony wouldn't want to come back to... this. Everything was broken- he was broken- and he was so incredibly disappointing. 

He slipped on a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. His phone in his pocket, Peter lazily made his way to the kitchen to make dinner. Bare feet on cold tile, he stopped as his pocket began to sing the national anthem. Steve was calling.

"Hey Cap."

Peter didn't try to disguise the weight in his voice.

"Pete, hey kid. How are you doing?"

Peter shrugged, then remembering that Steve couldn't see him, answered,

"I'm okay. You?"

On the other line, Steve took in a shaky breath. 

"I'm... Well, Pete, we have a situation here, and you may want to drop by." 

Peter perked up. He had always been invited to the Compound, an invitation he always refused. But something was wrong, and he could sense it.

"What is it, Steve?"

Another long, drawn out breath. And then,

"He's back, Pete. Tony is back."


	2. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's return causes many mixed emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A N G S T
> 
> I'm literally writing for no one but that's fine lol

_TonyMjNedAuntMay_

_TonyMjNedAuntMay_

_TonyMjNedAuntMay_

A string of names, a string of losses. And now, it meant nothing. Four wounds, open and festering in his chest like bullet holes. A mantra he repeated in heaving panic, a prayer, a rope teathered to his pain, gave it a name. 

Peter had lost everything, and it all started with him. 

Death gave everything and everyone meaning. People become more important, and love becomes deeper and larger in death. As horrible as it was, without death, life would have no reason, no discernable climax. Tony had lived and Tony had died, and it was supposed to be that simple. 

Ten years, Peter had marinated in that fact. And, though he had never accepted the loss, he'd understood that there was no changing the outcome, no reversal of events.

Ten years to grieve, ten years to let it sink in. 

It was deeper now, as he sat in the back of a cab. Every speed bump and sharp turn left him reeling in that greif, with which he'd only just gotten used to. His heart pounded in his anxiety, blaring just as loud in his ears as the music seeping from the stereo. 

_Tony is back. Back. Tony is back._

What would he say? How would he say it? How could he possibly tell him all that he'd missed?

How could he tell his mentor, the man that would always be more of a father than his own dad had ever been, that he was the root cause of every heartbreak Peter had ever experianced?

Would he be thinner, grayer? Would he even remember Peter?

He had no time for answers as the cab pulled to a stop. He thanked the driver, slipped him a twenty, and held his breath as he exited the vehicle and stood, dumbfounded, at the entrance of the compound. 

God, he didn't want to cry. _Goddamnit_. He swiped at the growing tears in his eyes and sucked in a breath. 

~*~

Peter was eighteen when he lost Ned, mere months after Tony's disappearance. A trip to Europe, gone awry. The morning before he left, May had cupped his cheek and dried his tears and told him that it would make things better, it would take his mind of his grief.

As if. Because, the truth of the matter was that villainy was everywhere. Being a "Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man" was all well and good until you leave the neighborhood and people still get hurt. 

Peter had chosen to trust a man called Mysterioso, a man he thought to be a hero. He was desperate for a mentor, a father-figure. He was entirely vulnerable and had let the man get under his skin. 

He'd chosen wrong.

Ned drowned. Peter had gone through all the steps- compressions and rescue breaths and calling 9-1-1, but he was dead, gone, unable to be revived.

Because of that man.

▪︎▪︎▪︎

MJ died when Peter was twenty three. They married young, only a month before. On their wedding day, Michelle wore a warm, vanilla dress, lacy sleeves that etched in floral cross-hatchings down her light brown skin.

The four weeks of marriage they had together were wonderful and quiet. They frequented art exhibits and historical tourist attractions, and spent many a night under the stars, talking about the life they would make together.

On the fourth anniversary of Tony's death, one month into what was supposed to be Forever, Peter went to the bar to raise his annual glass to his dead mentor.

MJ was hit by a bus, flowers in her hand. She was going to go with Peter to Tony's memorial statue. When Pete got the scene, white Lillies were scattered across the pavement in torn, bloodstained shreds.

▪︎▪︎▪︎

Peter was twenty-five when Aunt May died. She'd only been showing symptoms for a year, but her dementia was progressive and notoriously fatal. 

Words fell out from an invisible hole in her mind. Words that seemed so inconceivably ingrained into the heart and mind that it felt impossible May was forgetting them. 

Toothpaste. Dog. Family. Food. Peter.

_Peter_. 

She forgot who he was two months before her death. He walked into her room to check on her, and she'd recoiled, looked at him as if he were the grim reaper himself. 

"Who are you!" She'd shouted. "Get the hell out of my house! Oh my God, Ben! Ben, please there's someone in the house!"

When the home nurse arrived, he'd retreated to his bedroom and sobbed uncontrollably for hours. 

Some days, she remembered him and others, she would treat him like just another one of the nurses. She'd tell him stories about her nephew, Peter, and husband, Ben. The great loves of her life. 

On the day she died, she'd gripped his hand as he was about to leave the room. 

"Peter?" His heart pounded in his chest. It had been so long since she'd recognized him. "Peter, baby, you're so tall. When did you get so tall?"

He'd laughed, tears in his eyes. "I haven't grown at all, May."

"Oh," she'd said. "Maybe... I just... I'm smaller."

And they talked, until she got tired and wanted to sleep. He let her.

He would always regret it.

So manny losses, but hers had been the hardest. Her cold body against his chest as he heaved and wailed and cried for someone to help him.

Help never came. 

~*~

Five steps, and Peter would be inside the building. Four. Three. He stood before the door, not sure if he should knock or simply enter. He chose the latter.

In stark contrast to the darkness of the night, the inside of the compound was fully lit. Furniture was arranged in the entry way, a large couch, a lamp, a coffee table. He'd only ever been here twice- once with Tony, and once after the memorial service. It looked different, brighter.

His footsteps echoed in the wide hallways as he made his way towards the sound of shouting.

One last door to step through, to get to Tony. He took a deep breath and opened it, revealing all six original Avengers.

Including Stark.

They were arguing, shouting over one another, until Steve noticed him in the doorway.

"I don't understand! I don't- I was gone for two weeks, Rogers. What the fuck is happening!"

He was near tears, voice thick and wet. Steve held up his hand.

"Tony! Tony!"

"What!?"

Mister Stark followed Steve's line of vision, right to the boy. At the sight of the man, Peter was seventeen again. His knees buckled.

"Peter?"

 


	3. A Hundred Miles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning from the dead has its consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank you guys for the wonderful feedback so far! If anyone has any questions, feel free to comment or ask me anything on my tumblr, WhumpertDowneyJr!  
> You guys are adorable and have left me grinning from ear to ear  
> (But not in a creepy way)

"Peter?"

_peterpetepetperpeter._

The name no longer felt like his own. For a moment, the boy wavered, lightheaded and dizzy from just the sight of him. Tony was...

Tony was Tony. Late forties or early fifties. He didn't look as if he'd aged a day. Brow, creased with worry, the man stepped towards him. Years of unreliability pushed him away from Tony, his shaking limbs cowering away from him in fear. 

"Kid?"

A sliver of doubt in his voice, slowly widening. Peter was different, and he could tell. Taller, by at least two inches. Broad, muscular. Tony felt incredibly small standing in front of him.

"Pete, it's me." His arms extended, a question. Peter pulled away, an answer. Tony looked to the team and felt sick. 

Steve, patches of white scattered throughout his beard, his hair. A ring on his finger.

Thor- well, Thor looked essentially the same, except for the brown eye.

Nat. Frown lines that weren't there before.

Clint. Salt and pepper hair. A hearing aid.

And Banner, significantly more wrinkled, whitish hair at the temples. 

"It's me." He repeated, trying to assure himself. "You all... look like shit."

A typical, Stark™️ response. He hoped, prayed for a laugh. There was none. A lump rose in his throat, made it hard to breathe. Panic rose up from his tailbone to his shoulder blades. Air swelled and tightened in his lungs with worry. Steve stepped towards him, and he wanted to run, to scream. The Captain set a steadying hand on Tony's chest. 

"Tony," he started, slowly. "Maybe we can go sit down and talk about this." Stark slapped his hand away. "I don't want to sit down. Tell me what's going on!" 

"You were dead!" Wailed Peter from behind him. The billionaire turned to him and deflated. "What?"

"You," the boy sobbed, "Were dead. For ten years."

Tony would have laughed, were it not such an incredibly dark subject. His chest tightened again, clenched around the arc reactor. Pain shot through his head, his chest, his whole body. Peter stood, strong yet broken, before him.

"You left and you never came home. We - we grieved for you - we cried for you. We had funerals. All over the world. Set fake suits off like fireworks in the sky, across the country every year on your birthday." The kid, no longer a kid, tucked his chin into his chest and crumpled into himself. "I mourned you." He strangled out, an inhuman noise leaving him as he strung out an unintelligible sentance.

Heavy silence coated the room, painted wet streaks over the boy and his mentor. Tony wanted to hold him, to comfort him. But the kid was so close, and yet, so far away. A hundred miles fit snugly in several feet. He felt a hand on his shoulder, Nat's. She squeezed it and sighed.

"I'm so sorry, Tony," she whispered. "You'll forgive me for this." 

Before he could ask what she meant, a sharp sting trickled down his neck, and everything went blurry.

~*~

A haze of soft beeps, an ocean of sleep. It washed over him in waves.

Peter clutched his hand and rubbed his thumb across the back of Tony's knuckles. It was surprising, just how much it hurt to see him. Grief had been a dull ache, an empty air pocket in his heart. Knowing he'd grieved for nothing was a knife in his chest, slicing and ripping at his organs. 

Perhaps, the darkest thought that occured to him was that he wished Mister Stark was truly gone, as it was much less complicated. Painful, but less so. Still, he held the man's hand and squeezed it tightly. 

"I miss you," he whispered, knowing full well that they were still together, that it was Stark's hand he was holding. "I miss you so damn much."

A squeeze back. Tony was waking up. Peter quickly wiped his face free of fresh tears and took a deep breath.

Tony's waking glimpses of Peter were blurry, dark. But he could feel him, that hand, warm over his own. He could smell the salt and boyish sweat on him, cold feel the wetness of his tears in his palm. Two weeks had been so long, but not enough. Not enough to comprehend the magnitude of this change. 

Peter was grown. Ten years... he would be twenty seven. It all came to him at once. But he had to be calm, be calm for Peter, because he was just a kid. Just a kid.

"I miss'd y' too, buddy," he slurred, eyes slowly adjusting to his environment. Peter didn't look so different when he was sitting down. He had the same face, same expressions and mannerisms. His hair was a bit longer, fluffier. Curls dangled in front of his eyes, and he brushed them away.

Peter bit back a sob and clutched him tighter. 

"It's not the same," he managed, trying to keep it together. "You couldn't possibly know." 

Tony gripped his hand and sniffed. "I know, bud. I'm sorry."

Barely four words, but it was enough to rip the kid to shreds. He collapsed onto Tony, his mop of hair splayed out on his chest. Tony cupped his head, his wonderful head, and ruffled the unruly curls. 

"I wish I could change it," whimpered Tony, contagiously crying into Peter's hair. 

"I didn't know this would happen."

Peter sucked in a breath and pulled away. Tony wanted to hold him there, to breathe in the comfort and the curls before he had to go. But Peter was staying, composing himself as best he could. 

"Where were you?" He asked, voice hoarse and wet. 

Tony sat up and wiped his eyes.

"Thought I'd stop for Chicfila on the way home."

Peter laughed a child's laugh.

"That's not funny."

"You say while laughing," Tony added, grinning at the boy's comfort.

"It was a place called Vialedare. Not a big population. Pete." He stopped, suddenly serious again. "You have to know that time was different there." 

Peter nodded, wiping his eyes again, leaving wet smears across his cheekbones. "You don't look any older, so I figured."

Tony sighed deeply. 

"I'm so, so sorry kid." For the first time, their eyes truly met. Red and weepy, Peter's had lost a light they used to claim. It made Tony want to cry all over again.

"So," he said, trying to change the subject. "What happened while I was gone?"


	4. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was only natural for them to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm litterally astounded that anyone would want to read my stories. I tried this for years on Wattpad (which is a toxic environment if you ask me) and I never reached over a hundred views. Now, on here, I've surpassed 300. Thank you all so much. I'll try to upload as frequently as possible because I have so much I want to fit in to this story.  
> Thank you!

Visitors came in hourly shifts. Tony had to be monitored for at least a day, a team of nurses checking his vitals quite frequently. To his own disapproval, Bruce had just shaken his head and told him it was necessary. 

The first to fill him in was Peter, who intermittently cried as he unfolded the events of the last ten years. It was hard to hear, to digest. It made Tony nauseous just to think about. Loss after loss after loss. He was suprised the kid was still standing. 

Of course, greif still left it's mark on him. A glance at his forearm as Peter shifted, displacing conveniently oriented sweater sleeves revealed thin white lines etched into the skin. Skin, once so soft, raised and written on with scar tissue. Had he done this to himself? Tony tried not to think about it. Peter pretended he hadn't caught the man staring at it. 

It wasn't long before the kid tired of recalling the past, and stood, hugged Tony once more, and called someone else in to keep him company. 

The next person was Steve, whose eyes were brighter than Peter's, but heart equally as hollow. He smiled pittyingly at Tony as he entered the room. "Hey there," he started, voice slow and patient, as if he were speaking to a child. "How are you doing?" 

Tony tried not to glare at him as he answered, "Absolutely fantastic. What about you?" 

Steve flinched at the tone and sunk into a seat next to the bed. "I'm glad to see you, Tony." He didn't look it. He was still handsome, but some glow of joy or contentment had left him. He was a melancholy blue in comparison with his usual ray of yellow. 

"Are you?" Tony bit, voice tight. "It doesn't seem like anybody is." 

Steve scratched his bearded jaw and sighed. "It's complicated, Tony. A lot of things have changed since you left. It will take some getting used to."

Stark clutched the thin, white hospital blanket, so tight his knuckles paled. "Why is complicated? What changed?"

Of course, he knew some of the answers. Ten years, a whole decade of forward movement- of course some things had changed. All of them were older, worn down in ways that Tony couldn't comprehend. But even Peter hadn't filled him in on the details of his own life; what had come of Pepper, of Rhodey, of Sheild and the rest of the Avengers still remained a mystery.

Steve was hesitant, but obliged his questioning.

"Ever since we fought, Tony, I've made it a rule never to lie to you again. So I'll give it to you straight." He took a steadying breath and met Tony's gaze. "It's hard to see you. To talk to you. We all... moved on. In different ways. We drifted apart. And Peter's right: we grieved for you. And now that your back, it just..." he trailed off, unable to look at him anymore. "It just really hurts to be around you."

Like a punch to the gut. Tony winced, the sharp pain etching through his abdomen. It stole his breath, those words. _It hurts to be around you. Moved on. It's hard to see you._ God, he should've just stayed Dead. Steve closed his eyes  and bowed his head.

"I'm sorry that I came back," acknowledged Tony, perfectly calm. "I really am." 

"That's not what I mean," rebutted Steve, defensive. "You know that, Tony."

Stark nodded, swallowing a wave of anxiety. "Yeah, I know." He didn't, but it was better not to burden them further.

Nat was the next to visit. She was still remarkably beautiful, the same, cherry red hair with which he was so familiar. Still, Time had touched her too. Dark circles under her eyes and fine wrinkles, mapped across her face. 

They all spent their time at The Chair. Never too close and yet never too far. Perfectly out of reach from Stark. They didn't want to touch or hug him; to them, he was an apparition, one that would just as soon dissapear. 

She talked to him about Clint, how he'd lost most of his hearing in a brief and unremarkable battle due to a nearby explosion, hence, the hearing aid. He'd learned ASL and taught some to her, as she demonstrated by (rather poorly) signing her name and age.

She and Bruce shared a short-lived romance, which eventually ended to conflicts of interest. She worked at a girls home, now, where she trained young girls how to defend themselves in the real world. 

She'd retired from the Avengers five years ago.

Then it was Bruce, who came to talk to him. He was so obviously uncomfortable, fidgeting and flinching away from Tony as he spoke. Maybe he related to Tony too much. After all, he'd been held captive on an alien planet by his own alter ego for two years.

Still, he recapped his relationship with Natasha, leaving out most bots and pieces that she herself had already told him. He taught as a professor of Physics at Harvard, now, and lived alone.

He left as quickly as he could as soon as he was done telling his story.

Then cane Thor, who (thank God) was back to his joyful self. He was one of only three remaining avengers, and he still enjoyed the job.  He still looked annoyingly young and fit, and didn't seem too heartbroken that Tony had been gone for ten years. In his own words, he hardly even noticed anything was wrong.

He'd also gotten married to a girl, Jane, with whom he had three demigod children. He showed Tony their pictures, as well as his wife, who was well on her way to popping out a fourth. 

Unfortunately, Tony had no means to speak to Clint, so he vowed to learn sign language Still, he came and gripped Tony's hand, gave it a firm squeeze, and smiled. 

Five avengers came and went. The day was fading, purple sky washing over the horizon. All Tony wanted was to see Pepper. He'd been asking for her all day, and had gotten Steve to confirm that, yes, she was alive and well, but it wasn't enough. He had to see her. Steve had understood, but stood firm.

"Give her some time, Tony. She's going to need it."

_~*~_

 

Pepper had waited six years, three months, and twelve days before she kissed another man. Six years of solitude, tears, and loneliness. Every night she would wait for him, searching the tapestry of stars outside her window for a shape, a flicker of a light- Tony's light- and never found it. 

Of course, there had been funerals, memorials, celebrations of life. To the world, Tony was dead, but not to Pepper. To leave him behind felt like a betrayal. When Anthony and Morgan were born, she'd made a promise of the heart, to them, that she would bring their father home.

She never did.

So, on that day in that sixth year, she took a chance.

He had been a source of comfort, all those years. He felt the same pain, the same loss. And, though she never once had a romantic thought towards him when Tony was alive, he felt like a proper substitute. 

And now, four years of marriage, two of new discoveries and an addition of another child later, things were finally going well. They hadn't fought in over two months. Charlie, Anthony, and Morgan were calm and collected,  the latter two taking care of their youngest sister with ease. 

Things were finally good. 

And then she'd gotten the call. It took her breath away, and not in a good way. How dare things disrupt her calm. She'd fought for it for ten years, and just like that, Tony was back. She wanted to scream, but Charlie had been sleeping, then, the toddler's soft head lolling at her shoulder. 

From behind her husband approached warily. He set a hand on her shoulder as she dropped the phone.

She turned, slowly, her mouth suddenly very dry.

"Rhodey," she whispered, barely audible. "Tony's alive."

 


	5. Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter deals with the after effects of Tony's return, as Tony ponders his existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm litterally crying guys. Almost five hundred hits in two days? What??? I hope y'all like that last reveal. More to come of that, I promise.

Overwhelmed. That was the first emotion that came to mind as the cab drove away. Every sense was sharper, ever since the bite. Most days, Peter was used to it. But not today. Oh God, not today. He had to talk to Strange.

It had become a habit, an odd comfort. Strange wasn't fond of it, but never hesitated to invite him in. He knew Peter wasn't a threat to the sanctum. 

The kid did this, almost every month. Just twenty minutes, all that Strange would allow. He'd been trying to break the habit, felt it wasn't exactly the most helpful and healing thing to do, but after the events of the last few hours, he was going to make an exception. He had to see Strange. He had to see...

Peter's body was at the door, body going through the motions, his mind completely absent. He didn't remember getting out of the cab, paying the driver. But no sooner has he sat down, here he was, under an overcast sky. He took a breath and knocked on the door.

The Cape let him in, and lead him to Strange, who was sitting in a chair beside a wall of bookshelves. He closed the book he was reading, and cocked his head. 

"Parker. Wasn't expecting you so soon."

Peter shifted his weight.

"I'm sorry." He said, mind wandering. Strange picked up on the shielded anguish and stood. "What is it?" He asked, tone sharp, but concerned. Peter nodded, then shook his head.

"He's back. Mister Stark is alive."

Strange didn't looked shocked, instead more... indifferent. "Oh." He stopped, looked down. "I- well, I'm not exactly surprised." He seemed to want to be anywhere but here. "C'mon kid. You want to go to Venice, right?" 

Peter hesitated before nodding, pausing just a bit to wipe his eyes.

"Please."

~*~

_I should have died_. 

Tony thought back to the day he presented the Jericho. How everything went to hell, and the bomb- the bomb he'd designed- blasted off right next to him, sending shrapnel into his chest. The day he woke up attached to a car battery. 

Tony thought about the night that Obediah attacked him, that deep, embedded feeling of betrayel that sent shockwaves through him as the arc reactor shut down. He should have died.

Tony thought about New York and the wormhole; the weight of the nuclear missile, light as a feather. The growing calm that descended upon him as everything became dark.

Tony thought about Titan. About Peter falling against him, evaporating into nothingness. About how he waited, waited for his own skin to chip away, for his heart to stop and his bones to turn to dust. He should have died.

Tony thought about the Cassiopeia, the ship as it descended right for New York city. How he'd pushed and pulled with all his might, until he knew there was no other way. He had to lead it away, into the depths of space. He could end the circle, right then and there. Finish him for good. It was him they wanted, after all. He should have died.

But Tony Stark didn't die, no matter how hard he tried. It would've been better if he had. The world had been irrevocably changed at his return, and it would have been better for everyone if he'd remained stranded, alone at the wreckage of the Cassiopeia on an Alien planet for the rest of his life. 

So, instead of peacefully drifting in eternal slumber, Tony was running on a treadmill, sweat soaking through his shirt as he asked himself a million, silent questions.

Had she waited for him? Had she moved on? Wasn't that what people were supposed to do? Leave Him? Why hadn't she tried to send him a message? Where-

"Tony?" 

It was Steve, who had silently made his way into the room and was watching him worriedly. 

"You okay?"

Okay? Hell no. He was taking a goddamn stress test and was probably failing. His heart raced, a flutter, skin damp with perspiration. When he tried to speak, he failed. 

"I think you're having a panic attack."

Tony forced out a laugh. "You think?" 

He slid to the floor, wiped his brow, and coughed. "When is Banner going to be done with this shit? I'm obviously a prime example of health." He complained, voice laced with sarcasm. 

Steve wasn't smiling. He grimaced and nodded.

"I know you want this over with, Tony. You cope with Sarcasm. Bruce is coping with calculations and tests." 

Tony clutched his chest. "How dare you reveal my deepest, darkest secret?" He sneered. Steve gave him an obligatory smile, but it was sadder than he intended. 

"How about you go get cleaned up, and we go out for a bit, yeah? Maybe we could see about you reuniting with Pepper and-" he stopped himself.

"With Pepper."

~*~

Doge's Plalace, Venice, June 2019. He went back to the same date, everytime. Strange always asked him the same question, knowing the answer. 

"You want to go to Venice, right?"

The sun was bright, perfectly gradient in its yellow-oranges. The air smelled of sea and rain, and there she was. Perfectly poised, caramel skin glowing in the sun.

Michelle. Peter always had to watch her from afar, at the door, where she wouldn't see him. She sat on the steps of the palace, reading from an Italian translation book to- to young Peter, who laughed at her mispronunciations. 

He wanted to wait for young Peter to retreat away, to use the bathroom or something, so he could step in and speak to her, just one more time. To hold those incredibly soft hands, and whisper in her ear,  _mi manchi più di quanto le parole possano dire, amore mio._ Just to watch her look it up in her book.

But those twenty minutes, slippery little things that were so watered down from afar, passed through his fingers like steam. It wasn't long before he would have to go again, to fall back into Strange's precious sanctum and say goodbye to MJ for another month. 

He would always wait for that tilt of the head, the smile that spread in childish glee across her face, before he left. There was a moment- there always was- where he thought she saw him out of her periphery. 

But she turned away again, back to her youth. The day they fell in love.

Peter would be back again soon enough.


	6. Not Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are unveiled and relationships are tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the views are just going up? It's super hard to believe, but I'm so glad you guys like it so far. Follow my tumblr, WhumpertDowneyJr if you wanna talk, or have prompts for me. Thank you guys, your support means everything!
> 
> This chapter is going to be shorter than most, but it's still got some angstyness packed in there.

When Charlie Rhodes was born, she was a good nine pounds. Chunky arms and legs, rolled and creased like biscuit dough. The first time she gripped her father's finger, she won his heart, and he won hers. Charlie was a daddy's girl, no doubt. When Pepper tried to sing her to sleep, she wailed. She would only do for a bedtime story, narrated by Rhodey. 

Charlie's parental preference was often the subject of their fights. Pepper would accuse him of loving her more than the twins, and Rhodey would accuse her of treating Charlie differently than Tony's children. 

And maybe, maybe in some twisted way, she was right. It physically hurt to look at the twins. Anthony Jr. had his father's nose, and Morgan, her father's eyes. It was like staring at the miniature versions of his best friend. 

Charlie was purely their own, with pepper's eyes and lips and Rhodey's nose and cheekbones. A thick mop of curls and that sweet, baby smell. 

She was two, now. She could walk and jabber, and knew a few select words. She got along well with her siblings. She was quiet, reserved.

AJ was talkative, but calm. Morgan- Morgan was all Tony. Charming, with an ego that didn't quite fit her small frame. At ten, the twins looked older than they were, tall for their age and thin, like their mother. 

They weren't ready for something like this. 

Rhodey picked up the fallen phone and held it to his ear.

"It's Steve," urged Pepper, weak-voiced. She squeezed Charlie tighter and bounced her gently at her hip.

"Steve," he began, already out of breath. "What in the hell."

"I know," Rogers responded on the other line. "I know, and I know it's a lot. But," he paused. "He doesn't- it hasn't been as long, for him."  Rhodey felt like he was going to have a heart attack. He pushed through, swallowed his breath.

"What does that mean?"

Pepper reached our for the phone, raised a hand, mouthing, "What? What?" Rhodey brushed her off, held her close.

"For us, it's been ten years. But for Tony, it's been two weeks."

His grip tightened on Pepper.

"I don't understand how that's possible." 

~*~

Steve ended the call and weakly smiled at him. "They'll be expecting us in about an hour." He added, before coreecting himself. "She. She'll be expecting you."

Tony relaxed for a moment on the couch before tensing up again. "Can you tell me something, cap?" He asked, hoping that Steve would just deny him the chance. 

"Sure," he said hesitantly. Tony swore, mentally, and asked the question before he could stop himself.

"Is she- are we still married?" The last word came out choked, and he felt his chest tighten like it did when he was about to cry. Steve was silent, not meeting his gaze. 

"You were gone for ten years, Tony," he said after a long while. 

Tony coughed out a sob, tried to reign it in. Steve moved closer, hugged him around the shoulders. "I'm sorry." He sighed, heart heavy.  "But I was-" cried Tony, "-I was with her - I was with her - two weeks ago." He sputtered. "It's not fair." 

That was all he allowed himself; he shut the faucet as quickly as it turned on. He ran a hand over his face, took in a shaky breath, and cleared his throat. "Enough of that," he whispered to himself. 

Tony unlatched himself from Steve's embrace. Did he dare to ask?

"Is she remarried?"

Steve chewed the inside of his cheek and looked at him out of his periphery. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

~*~

"Does it- do you think it looks okay in here?" Asked Pepper, who stood back and admired their tidy home. Rhodey hugged her around the middle and set his chin on her shoulder. "It looks great, Pep." He assured, kissing her neck. Pepper shivered away and James grimaced. 

"What was that?" He asked, more hurt than angry. "My breath smell or something?"

Pepper scratched her neck and sighed. "No, no, not that, it's not that." She smiled sweetly, cupped his face in her hands. "You know how much I love you, right?"

He wavered before acknowledging her. "Of course." 

She rubber her thumbs across his cheekbones , tears in her eyes. "Today is just- it's unexpected." 

A knock at the door. Beeath caught in Pepper's throat. "The kids?"

"With the nanny upstairs. C'mon." Rhodey took her by the hand and lead her slowly to the door. 

They stopped, inches away, sharing a look before they accepted the chaos coming their way, and opened the door.

 


	7. Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony, Rhodey, and Pepper's reunion does not go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 700 HITS? I AM GOING TO SCREAM!  
> I LOVE YALL!

Steve lead him to the door cautiously, peering through the the window before knocking.

Tony noticed a minivan in the driveway and inwardly laughed. Pepper hated minivans. She thought they were bulky and impractical for someone without kids. Kids.

 _Kids_.

Tony stopped in his tracks.

“Steve? Does Pepper have-" The door swung open, Miss Potts standing there looking beautiful as ever. Hair, half up and curled, makeup applied in perfect precision, she looked ready to go out somewhere. And- and Rhodey, older, graying.

Tony wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Sure, two weeks had felt like forever, but this was not some, grand reunion to him. But to Pepper and Rhodey and absolutely everyone else, this was a very, very big deal.

Pepper was stunned into silence. Her lips were tight, mouth pinched in a straight line. For a minute or two, she didn’t even blink. Then, one step. Two steps. Three steps, four. She stood before him, warmth from her skin radiating onto the man. Her hands ran from his neck to his wrists then back to his face, which she held, briefly, in wonder.

Tony didn’t have time to duck from her blow.

It was a hard slap, harder than he'd been hit in years. He instantly felt blood rushing to his cheek and lower lip, a thin slice in the corner opened up by one of Pepper's acrylic fingernails. Tony didn’t guffaw or look at her accusingly. He took a deep breath and looked at her again. “Hey, Pep.”

“Don’t.” she started, backing up again. “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.” She threw her hands down at her sides, clenched her fists. Tony readied himself for another strike. It never came. “And you don’t, don’t get to look at me like that.”

Tony rubbed his sore cheek. “Like what?”

“Like you're in love with me.”

He tasted metal, his tongue soothing the sting of his busted lip.

“I am in love with you,” he affirmed after careful consideration. “I've been in love with you since as long as I can remember.”

Pepper rolled her eyes and nervously rubbed at her neck. “No you're not,” she growled, laughing bitterly. “No, see, because if you were ever in love with me, you wouldn’t have found so many ways to leave me.”

“Ways to leave you?”

“You know what I mean, Tony. The suits. The Arc Reactor. The missile in New York. And the goddamned Cassiopeia. You made the conscious choice to put yourself in harm’s way, and didn’t even think about how that would affect,” she gestured around the room at the four of them, “all of us.”

_Didn’t think about us._

“Is that really what you think? That all of this, all of the work I've put into this world is because I want to get away from you?” his voice, cold and biting. “Guess what, Miss Potts. It's not all about you.”

_Takeitbacktakeitbacktakeitback._

_It was always about you, Pep. Just not the way you think_.

She smiled tearfully and nodded. “Well,” she spat. “You've certainly made that pretty clear.”

Tony was about respond with some Snarky comment when Rhodey set a hand on Pepper's shoulder. Time stopped. Everything became still.

“Pep,” he began, pulling her closer to him. Father away from Tony. “Let's simmer down, okay? Emotions are running high and I get it, I do, but we're all dealing with this, okay? It's just gonna take some time.”

The way their eyes met. Loving, doting, checking up on eachother. The way she calmed at his touch. Tony found himself laughing hysterically.

“Tony?” asked Steve, “you okay?”

Tony looked to him, to his best friend, to Pepper. “Oh,” he cackled, “Oh, no, I'm great. Fan-flippin-tastic. What about _you_ , Rhodey?” Rhodey froze, unsure of what to say.

“I’m okay, Tony.”

Tony laughed harder. “Oh, I bet you're okay, and you know why? Because you finally got me out of the way.”

Rhodey caught on and attempted to calm him.

“Oh, Tony, c'mon now. Let's go sit-"

“No!” boomed Stark, abruptly unamused. “No, I'm not- God, I trusted you, you know that? I wanted you to take care of Pepper if something happened, but this- THIS is not what I meant. Jesus Christ, Rhodey.”

“Tony-"

“You’re no better!” he screamed to Pepper, now, “You should have known that wasn’t right. You and Rhodey? Really?” he paused, trying to calm his speeding heart.

“Did you have feelings for him before? When we were together?”

“No!”

“How long did you wait?”

“Tony-"

“How long did you wait?”

“Six years,” wailed Pepper, covering her face in her hands, smearing the carefully applied eyeliner and mascara on to her cheeks.

“I waited six years for you, Tony. You never came back. And it’s not like me and James had some long, romantic history. It's just that Tony, Tony,” she sniffed, smearing even more watercolor eyeliner across her nose. “Rhodey was here. He was here to tell me it was going to be okay. He was here to laugh and cry with me when we missed you. He was here to teach AJ and Morgan about engineering. To tell them stories about their dad, and rock them to sleep at night. Rhodey was here. He was here because you werent.”

 _Silence_.

It took a moment before Pepper even realized her error.

“Who are AJ and Morgan?” asked Tony, the calmest question he'd spoken aloud all night. When Pepper didn’t answer, he turned to Steve. “Who are they?”

Pepper clutched her mouth and sobbed. Rhodey closed his eyes tightly.

“There's no easy way to tell you this, Tony,” answered Steve, who faced him now, skin taut with lines and furrowed brows.

“But you… you have two children.”


	8. Fathers (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony reflects on his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of a two chapter long daddy issues saga lmao.

Maybe one day, Tony would look back and find this humorous. But probably not. 

Growing up, Tony Stark had one fear: _disappointment_. Not for himself, no. No, Tony was terrified of disappointing his parents, his father especially.

Growing up an only child, it should have been easier to win his father's attention and resulting affection. Yet, every day with Howard was a struggle. Every accomplishment, undermined by a snide remark the man made from behind a newspaper. 

One night, at fifteen years of age, Tony spent the passing dark assembling bits and pieces of machinery in an attempt to create some new version of AI.

Tears clouding his vision as he worked, he struggled to accept that this- this sad game he was trying to win- would never bring them closer. Still, he worked his goddamned ass off until something came of his efforts.

There it stood, a little over five feet tall. A metal hand, two fingers. A slow nod as it came to life in front of him. Tony couldn't help but grin- the thing was taller than him, a little awkward, maybe, but still. Tony had created life with spare parts of his father's equipment. He couldn't wait to show it to Howard. There was no way- there was just no way his father could dislike this.

"Dad, dad." he whispered excitedly, shaking his father from sleep. "Dad, I made something, you have to come see it."

Howard open his eyes, blearily. Grimaced. "Can't it wait, Tony?" His heart dropped a little.

"Please, dad, it'll just be a minute." Howard grunted, gruff and tired. "Fine." He huffed, standing carefully so as not to wake his wife.

When they got down to the workshop, Tony swallowed his excitement and ushered his father in, presenting the robot. It was glorious, polished metal, and sense of personality bursting through the seams. Howard stopped at the door, face increasingly stern.

"What the hell is that?"

Tony smiled, walked up to it. He hadn't decided on a name yet. "It's- well, my creation, I guess. A robot," he struggled for the word, "...thingy."

His father sighed, unamused. "What does it do?" he asked, not caring for the answer. Tony tried not to let it bother him.

"It can grab things."

"Grab things?" he didn't seem interested. It was starting to break the kid's heart. Howard approached it, tapped the metal surface. He set one of his slippers by the robot and backed away.  "Make it grab my slipper," he ordered, calmly.

"Okay." He faced the robot. "Robot. Grab dad's slipper." The thing cocked it's hand/head before attempting to do as instructed.

Instead, it sprayed thick white foam over Howard. Extinguishing fluid- Tony had equipped the thing with it just in case it caught fire. His heart leaped to his throat.  _Shit_. 

Howard glared at the robot first, then Tony. "This really what you woke me up for?" he asked, wiping white foam from his neck. Tony tried to quell the tears that were rising up against the roof of his mouth.

"It didn't do that earlier." Howard nodded, understanding but not sympathetic. This was exactly what he would've expected from Tony. _A malfunctioning piece of garbage_.

"How did you even make the thing?" he asked. Tony sniffed and looked up to the man.

"Just spare parts from around... here." He gestured to the workshop. Howard pinched his brow.

"My equipment?" voice tinged with anger. "Tony, you can't- don't touch my stuff, okay? Not if you're going to make stuff like this." he pointed to the robot.

"If you're going to steal from me, at least make something that works." He sighed and turned. "I'm going back to bed."

And that he did.

Tony waited till he heard his parents door closed before he screamed. A wheezing, angry howl at empty space. He turned to the robot, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

"Really?" he sobbed. "You couldn't just work? I needed you to work you stupid, useless" a blow to the side of the machine, "Fucking," a kick to the front. The head ducked away, almost sorrowful, "Dumb-ass."

The boy readied his fist to punch it again, the last blow having already brought blood and bruises around his knuckles. He couldn't do it again. Instead, his hands embraced the thing, and he fell against it, sobbing.  "I'm sorry," he wailed, hugging the thing. "I'm sorry."

To his suprise, Tony felt the machine shift, and it's hand/head clutched his shoulder. It was hugging him back.

Tony sniffed and wiped his eyes, pulling away when the machine did. He sat back on his knees and took in the sudden human-ness the thing had embodied. 

"You are a dummy. I'm not taking that back. But you might not be useless." The robot raised its head, perked up. Tony laughed. "I said 'might.'"

~*~

Tony had many fears. He never wanted to let anyone down. And he didn't- he didn't want to dissapoint his children the way he own father did. He'd wanted to settle in with Pepper, pass on the suit, maybe, to Peter. 

He'd wanted to take his time.

But now, Tony had none. Absolutely none of it. He didn't have Pepper or Peter and he certainly had no time. He was lost, ten years away from everyone he loved.

It broke his heart.

"Kids?" He asked quietly. "Mine?"

Everyone took a breath in unison, and Rhodey nodded, slow and steady. "AJ- Anthony Jr., and Morgan. And-"

Pepper shot Rhodey a look and shook her head. Rhodey looked down, not wanting to face his former friend.

"And what, Rhodey?"

"And Charlie. But she's not yours."

Not _yours_. None of them were truly his, so of course she wasn't- but no, that wasn't what Rhodey meant. Not yours, as in, mine. As in, he and Pepper were truly together, married, even. 

Charlie. AJ. Morgan. Kids that would never really know Tony, not the way children should know their father. 

He didn't want to see him. Was that wrong? He couldn't do that to them, these kids who owned his blood, but not his heart. That wasn't family. He was just another absentee father, one of millions. 

Tony closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he calmly looked up at Steve and said,

"It's time to go."

~*~

Tony's childhood had been a mess, and so only naturally, so had gone his teenaged years and later his adult life. A robot, Dum-e, had raised him more than his own father had. Metal and compassion of his own creation.

It had been a dream of his for some time to do better than Howard. To steamroll his success and build upon the wreckedge triumphs of his own. To love a woman and never hit her, never strike like Howard had to his mother. To raise a child who didn't have to invent a father to pick him up, to care for him, to cry on and go to for comfort. 

His best friend had taken that dream and made it his reality. Good for him. But Tony couldn't sit around and watch.

It was all he could do not fall apart as he left Rhodey and Pepper's house. 


	9. Fathers (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter reflects on his childhood and reconnects with Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two. Sorry it took a while!

When Peter was a kid, he was scared of most things. Loud noises, aliens, asthma attacks; you name it. Even before his senses were heightened, he saw things in a different way then most people. He was smart for his age, which, in the fourth grade, a lot of a kids were, but he never grew out of it as the others did.

His friends, at the time, were obsessed with superheros. Captain America was the common favorite, especially in his early years. On Halloween, other kids would dress as Cap, plastic shield and all. Some were fond of the hulk, and brought novelty hulk hands to school. Others idolized Thor and claimed to be Agaurdian.

Peter wanted to be Tony Stark.

In technical terms, the kid wasn't alone in that. Even Ned dressed as Iron Man one year. But Pete, he didn't just want to be Iron Man- he wanted to be Tony. Tony Stark, the charismatic man on TV with the iconic beard and buoyant sarcasm. May liked to call him slimy, a sleazeball, you name it. Ben thought he was hilarious, and so did Peter.

So naturally, when Tony Stark transcended to Iron Man, Peter was immediately a fan. He begged his aunt and uncle to take him to a Stark expo, any Stark expo, every chance he got. The answer was always no, it was going to be too crowded, and Peter had asthma attacks when he got too anxious, and Ben got claustrophobic, and May just generally didn't like Tony and-

There were a million reasons not to go. 

And then one day, Ben picked Peter up from school early. Some excuse about May being sick and that the kid had to come home early. As soon as they crossed the threshold of the school, Peter asked, concerned, if May was okay.

"She's fine," said Ben. Peter stopped, confused. "Then why are we leaving school early?" He asked.

Ben smiled. "We're going to a Stark expo. Don't tell May."

A Stark expo, his first. He practically jumped up and down at the news. And, no suprise, the event was incredible, mesmerizing.

After the show, Tony was signing autographs. Ben bought Peter a plastic Iron Man helmet, and he wore it as they explored the venue. 

It was then that he saw him. Tony Stark, in the flesh, signing kids' pictures and magazines and merchandise. Peter had to meet him, he just had to.

Ben stopped him, just feet from his hero. "Buddy, I'm sorry. But do you see what they're doing? It costs money to get something signed. We don't have any more to spend."

Peter deflated.

"Sorry to eavesdrop, but don't worry about it."

Peter turned, his heart in his stomach. Tony stark couldn't possibly be talking to him.

"You want me to sign something kiddo?" He asked, head cocked, a soft smile gracing his face. Peter couldn't speak, not now. He nodded his head, approached the man.

"He doesn't have anything to sign." said Ben, above him. 

Tony's brow burrowed.

"Well that's not good."

He turned to Happy Hogan, a smiling, broadshouldered man. Ben started to tug him away- it was time to go, there was nothing to sign- but Tony continued.

"Good thing I have a couple pictures on hand. Your pick. Charlie's Angel's, classic Iron Man, peace signs- ah, Classic Iron Man. Good choice."

Under his helmet, Peter grinned at the laminated photo. Tony took out a sharpie, signing his name with a big, loopy T and S. 

When he handed the autograph over he smiled, ruffled the helmet. "Nice helmet, kid. Maybe some day we work together, huh? Can't be Iron Man, though. That ones taken." He smiled as Tony turned his attention to someone new, another urgent and excited fan.

Peter looked up at his idol and prayed that his prophecy would come true.

~*~

Shots again. A different bartender this time, not Katie. Peter really disliked drinking, but he needed it. Especially now. He had to be a little looser, a bit less tense around Tony, and he would be here soon.

He wiped his lips and tried not to gag at the taste, the sting of the alcohol wafting up and through his nose.

Peter remembered. He remembered that night with Ben, at the expo. _Maybe some day we work together._

He'd had the chance, he'd taken it. And, like anything preceding it, all that lead to was needing to be saved. Again. 

That's what Tony did. Tony saved, even when no one asked. That's why all of this happened, why nothing had been the same. Not since the Cassiopeia. 

"Kid?"

Kid. It was Tony. Peter turned to see the man, who in this big bar, in his own, taller shadow, seemed so incredibly small. Kid. Hell, Tony had twenty years in him now at most. He wasn't a kid anymore. Yet, he felt a sense of comfort in the title. Kids were free of marks, of scars. Kids were blank canvases. God knows how many fucked up marks had been made on him by now.

His instantaneous reaction to seeing him again was to hug him. To just hug, and be free of it all. The pain, the anger, the resentment. Let it melt out through his pores. Maybe it wasn't the time or the place but God, he needed it. He needed the warmth, the feeling on Tony's shoulder against his chin, his shaking arms clutching eachother around the boy's back. He breathed him in and breathed him out and felt safe for the first time in years.

It took some time to get back into the rhythm, once they started talking again. Tony didn't drink, so they left the bar early, headed to a kareoke bar. 

Three appetizers and six poorly done renditions of P!NK songs later, and the two sat across from eachother at a booth, talking about what life had become.

"I have kids. Me. Tony Stark has children. Haven't even seen them yet."

Peter smiled and took a bite out of a boneless wing.

"They look just like you, Tony. Even when they were born. It was remarkable."

Tony nodded, a solemn calm settling over him. 

"I never wanted to be a dad. Until I did. I think theres this little blank space, there. Very small. Just this thin line of fatherhood."

"What's the line?" Asked Peter, knowing full well the answer.

"You, Pete." Tony answered with little hesitation. "You know, my dad... he wasn't a great guy. He hurt my mother. He was a reall- he was a pill. And I just wanted to be a good dad, you know? I know I'm not your dad, Pete. I know that. But I guess I just wanted to make a kid's life better. The way I wish someone had for me. I'm sorry if I ever forced that on you. That I brought you into this mess."

Peter took it in, a warm, buzzy satisfaction melting through his veins. 

"Mr. Stark?- eh, Tony," he started, half drunk and more than a little emotional. "Please don't apologize for- Tony, um," he dug around in his pocket for his wallet, which he proceeded to pull out and open. He took a small, folded photo from a slit in the wallet and unfolded it, revealing-

A picture of Iron Man, signed and dated by Tony himself. 

Tony touched it with his index finger. "Where did you get this?" He asked.

Peter smiled. "From you, actually. At a stark expo when I was a kid."

Tony pulled the photo closer, rubbed his thumb over the aged signature. "I remember this," he started, voice wobbling. "I remember- were you the kid? The one in the helmet?"

Peter nodded and tears spilled down Tony's cheeks. 

"I was there with my uncle. He snuck me out of school just to drive up and, and well, you know the rest. And then later, this other guy- I don't even remember his name at this point- he set off these killer robots, right? All targeted to your face, as if they could recognize it. And I was there, wearing that same helmet. And you saved me. You saved me from one of the killer Robots, mister Stark!" He laughed. "Anyways, I don't know if you remember that. But I'm not just showing you this to get all sappy and nostalgic."

"When I was a kid, Tony, I used to pull out this picture and tell people that Tony Stark was my dad. Anyone that ever crossed me, disliked me, made fun of me. One flash of the picture, and they believed me. At least, when I was in elementary school. People obviously caught on that I was bullshitting them. But for a little while, Iron Man was my dad." Peter swallowed.

"And then, after a little while, he kind of got to be again." He finished after a long pause. His Adam's apple bobbed with emotion.

"And he gets to be now, too, if he wants to."

Pete extended his hand to Tony, who grabbed it and squeezed it readily. "It's just going to take some time, Mister Stark. It always has."


	10. Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve deals with Tony's return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye! It's a Steve chapter! And would you look at that! We hit a thousand veiws. Absolutely remarkable. Thank you guys!

Pancreatic Cancer. Stage 4.

The fabric lining the tray scratched at his thighs, and Steve struggled to remain still. This wasn't his first rodeo, but goddamn, he hated MRI's. He tried to focus on the vanilla ceiling, the claustrophobic plastic walls pressed against his biceps. 

"Time for that deep breath now, Mr. Rogers." Inhale. "Good, now just hold that until I tell you to let it out. Only a few more seconds." The whir of the machine, some invisible camera stealing images of his insides.

"You can let it out now, Mr. Rogers." 

_Let it out, now._ Exhale _._

Steve had been diagnosed two months prior. Buck had been there, holding his hand the whole time. The doctor had spoken in that tone, the one that many used when it was time to relay bad news to others. And while finding out he had cancer certainly wasn't what he'd been hoping for, it wasn't exactly the worst news he'd gotten in a while. After everything...

He could exhale. Free himself of the strings that kept him tied to the 40's. Let go of all the war and loss he'd experienced. After all, there wasn't much else he could do. The disease was spreading, and fast. In his blood, in his bones, in his lymph nodes.  The SuperSoldier Serum was what kept it from killing him right away, but it was only temporary. Being a super soldier did not mean being immortal. Unfortunately, it was also what kept any form of chemo from working. And yes, there were chemical trails, expiraments happening all the time, but Steve had tired of trails. Wasn't an experimental trail exactly what lead him here in the first place?

"One more time, Mr. Rogers."

Steve's jaw clenched. "Actually," he said, speaking into the microphone clipped to his gown, "It's Rogers-Barnes." He swallowed and held his breath.

"My mistake, sir."

Steve closed his eyes and let the dull thump of the machine lull him into submission.

~*~

It would have been easier if Tony had never returned, but Steve couldn't admit that. While he may be in pain- mostly physical, growing tumors pressing on his internal organs- Tony was undoubtedly suffering more. He had to help, had to make up for his long, unpayed debt. 

Since his return, Tony had been in constant need of attention and comfort, and that left little time for Steve to be with Buck. That was all he wanted, really, to soak up his last few months looking into the eyes of his husband. So, when Stark called him from an Applebees bathroom at 2Am, he was less than thrilled.

Tony sat in the backseat of Steve's jeep, the kid's head resting in his lap as he slept. Stark caught Steve's eyes in the mirror and smiled, sadly. "Sorry, Steve," he said, running his fingers through the kid's hair. "I just didn't know what to do with him, you know?" Steve bit the inside of his cheek. "It's fine," he lied.

It would never be fine, not the way that it was supposed to be. Tony hadn't been there. He hadn't seen what had come of everybody. He hadn't seen what his loss had done to the kid. What it had done to him. Tony hadn't been there to give the kid his first beer. No, that had been Steve.

Four months after his disappearance, Pete had come down from his room at the compound, teary eyed. He wanted to talk about Tony, and almost no one wanted to. The only exception was Pepper, who was so annoyingly hopeful Tony would come back. It was all false, completely unrealistic. The kid didn't need that kind of misplaced hope in his life.

So Steve obliged. He'd gotten them both a beer, knowing that it wouldn't affect him, and wanting it to. God, he wanted to be drunk.

He let the kid cry on him, and later puke on him, cause fuck, this kid was a lightweight if he'd ever seen one. And when the kid finally passed out, Steve had scooped him up in his arms and brought Pete to his room, wrapped him in a blanket, and escaped to the bathroom to cry until his chest hurt, water running in the shower so that no one would hear.

Tony hadn't been there, so of course he didn't know what to do. The Captain didn't like to dwell in anger, but Tony, goddamnit, made him furious. Perhaps it was guilt, because, couldn't he have done something to prevent all this? Maybe if he and Stark had still been on speaking terms...

But it was useless. He couldn't do it anymore. _You can let it out, now._

"We missed you," he said, under his breath. "We missed you a lot."

Tony looked down at the boy and grimaced. But it wasn't his turn to talk, no, because Steve had to let this pour out of him. If he didn't get it over with now, nothing was going to change.

"I'm sorry about the accords. I'm sorry for lying to you about Buck. And I'm sorry that I let you get away from us all." He took a breath. "There was so much that could've been done differently. So much we could have actually communicated about, but we didn't. And that's on both of us." "But when you left, Tony, you broke everyone's hearts, and there's no getting around that. And while there's no use in hating you for it, you can't expect us to just get over it immediately. And I just need you to know that we will help you get through this, we will, but it's never going to be the same. It can't be. Because, that's the thing, Tony. None of us are the same." Steve and Tony locked eyes through the rearview mirror.

"Sorry, Steve," said Tony, running his fingers through the boy's hair. "I just didn't know what to do with him, you know?"

Steve swallowed all the words he'd never say and smiled falsely.

"It's fine."


	11. Hold You Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony meets his his children, and Peter senses trouble in the world. And also Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who dissapeared for a month? This gal. I had a busy month- my birthday was on the 28th, turned 18. Plus I've got a Pageant coming up, really excited for it. Sorry the upload schedule has been messy :)  
> Enjoy the whump fluff!

Four brown eyes, halos of orange and flecks of gold around dark and dilated pupils. Two children, one with dark hair, the boy, the other, strawberry blonde, the girl. Morgan smiled, nervously, hiding behind her slightly taller brother.

_My kids._

Of course, they were biologically Tony's, but he was in no way their father. He never tucked them in or cradled them as they cried in the night, never nursed them awake from a nightmare. He'd never taught them right from wrong. He wasn't a parent. Until, of course, he had to be.

Morgan and TJ. TJ and Morgan. Ten years old, fairly scrawny, but strong in stature. Morgan was shaking, scared, but excited. TJ was stern, stiff and protective. On the couch behind them, Pepper sat with her hands gently resting on her sleeping daughter's shoulders. Charlie. Rhodey's kid. Rhodes wasn't there, and in that, Tony was fairly relieved. He couldn't face him, couldn't look at him and know what he'd done, what he'd been doing for the past six years. Maybe he felt betrayed, or maybe, quite the opposite: maybe he felt guilty. After all, Pepper had been all alone. Rhodey had saved her- had been a replacement. A... temporary... replacement. He had to know that this couldn't last forever.

Pepper was no one's possession, of course. But she and Tony... that was how it was supposed to be. And that couldn't happen with Rhodey knee deep in his fiancee.

But that was for a different time. The kids, they were here, right now. 

Tony had brought them gifts- something he knew in his heart was a lame gesture, a fleeting wish for redemption. An absentee father, for the first ten years of their life, Stark would likely be unable to buy their affection with iPads. Did kids even liked those? He hoped so.

The silence was thick, uncomfortable. Tony could feel it in his throat, building and throbbing like the beat of his heart behind the roof of his mouth.

"Hi,"

The first word was from Morgan. She stepped out from her brother's shadow and smiled. A hand, raised, to shake. Tony had to physically remind himself to respond, to hold out his own, to grip her hand. He shook it slowly, letting her smooth skin sink into his. Pores on pores, palms on palms. He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. 

"I'm Morgan." A small voice, soft and smooth. It sounded like a miniature version of Pepper's. Tony had to swallow the lump, the hurt. This was his best creation. His very best. 

It took everything to let her go. He just wanted to hug her, to hold her tighter. To let her know just how much she was loved, and would be loved. But he had to let her go, would have to learn to.

"Hey Morgan. I'm Tony."

TJ perked up. "So am I."

Tony smiled and leaned back on his heels.

"Tony Jr., kiddo. I'm taking the name back. I've got seniority."

Pepper looked up, Charlie cradled in her arms. "Tony!"

Both Tony Sr. And TJ jerked their heads her way. Pepper ran her hands through her hair.

"Tony Senior. They don't get sarcasm yet." 

"Well," Tony retorted, "I guess I'll have to change that. Hey, do you guys like IPads?"

~

Peter couldn't concentrate. Be it, this wasn't exactly new, as he hadn't been able to really focus on anything since his aunt's passing. Hell, since Tony. 

But this was different, deeper. Every muscle in his body shaking with tension, anxiety crawling through his abdomen and up his throat. Something was wrong, incredibly wrong. He could feel it in the air, smell it. Whenever Peter felt this, this sickening sense of dread, he tried to drown it out. Ignoring the panic felt selfish, but in some ways, better than the alternative. It felt like his fear summoned the bad guys, called them out from oblivion. Maybe his fear was a signal, white noise on a radio. Terror, a beacon to those who fed off it like moths to a lamp.

Pete was tucked under a blanket in his apartment, staring at the light that crept in through the thin fabric. He traced the patterns, running his finger over the flashes of white. His breath warmed his face as it filtered softly through the fleece. He closed his eyes and listened to the traffic outside. 

Maybe he shouldn't have put the suit away. And by put it away...

He wasn't even sure if he could find it. Steve would remember, he was sure. He'd been there when- when it was buried. When he'd buried it, under the cloudy sky. At least, he'd been there by the end of it. He'd been there to pick him up again.

By God, Peter wanted to be close to Tony again. But things would never be the same. And he'd love him, love him as much as his heart could take, but that love would never make up for the years lost. They'd all had to move on. He couldn't feel bad about that, shouldn't. It was natural to let him go. But... Peter felt wrong, to leave the man in his tracks. So, Pete carried Stark's weight, along with that of MJ, Ned, and May. He'd carry them until the day he died.

_They're coming._

A shiver down his neck, all the way to his tailbone. Almost as if someone had whispered in his ear. He didn't know who, or what, or when, but someone... someone bad was coming. Coming for him. Coming for everyone. He had to tell someone, to call someone.

But he wasn't Spider-Man anymore. He was just Peter Parker. And Peter Parker would never be strong enough to stop them. Whoever they were. 

Peter stared at the threads of the blanket and let out a breath as two, hot tears slipped from the sides of his eyes, and down to his ears. 

Peter would never be enough.

~

Nose to nose. Steve watched as Buck's eyelashes fluttered open and closed, open and closed. Soft, green eyes, for the first time in a long time, relaxed. This wasn't his forever, and he knew that. It was only his now, and he was okay with that. 

With his right hand, he grazed Steve's cheek, thumb to temple to chin to neck.

"I love you," he whispered, voice tired, gravely but soft. Steve leaned in and kissed him, relished in the soft thickness of his lips, trying to close his eyes and block everything but him, him, him, out. Right now it was only Buck. Just him, and the man that he loved.

When he pulled away, he didn't even bother to wipe the tears from his cheeks. It spilled down the side of his nose and onto the bed. Bucky smiled sadly, calmly, and kissed them away.

"I'll love you," Steve uttered, hand on his love's neck. "Till the end of the line."

"But Steve," Buck slid closer to him,  ran his hands through Steve's hair and beard. "The line never really ends."

Steve smiled. "I know."

Just quiet. Just him and Buck. Till the end and forever after that.

In that moment it felt like they were safe.

The attack proved them all wrong.

The end was real, and it was near.


	12. Bury the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years ago, Peter lost aunt May, and had a nervous breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, two hundred views in a day? Not bad for having not posted in a while. Thanks for sticking around, my dudes :)

_ShhWhapShhWhapShhWhap_

Peter's heart pounded in his chest. He tried to steady himself against the wall, muscles shaking as he took a moment to study his handiwork. Two holes in the wall, one from his fist and the other from his heel. A glass of water, shattered and broken in splinters across the floor. A book, torn in half. Countless webs across the room, remains of a moment spent devoted to shear agony; a scream, piercing and wet and ragged, ringing against the hollow walls, webs shooting at random objects in attempt to throw them across the floor.

He set a hand on his chest, willing his heart to slow, to calm himself from the inside out. He was flushed, panting, tired. How useless anger felt, and yet, how cathartic. He tested out his scream, again. Let it rip through his chest. It butchered his lungs and throat, but god, it felt good.

So yeah, he was experiencing a breakdown. Who could blame him? His aunt had just died. And he was going to make the best use of his time during this manic episode. 

He was going to get rid of every single thing that had a painful strings attached. 

A Lego Star Wars set from Ned. He hadn't touched it in years, but often looked at it, held it, just to feel close to him. It would have to go. Every single picture of the two of them. All must go.

His... his wedding and engagement rings. He'd been wearing them for three years. Three years since her passing. All of his and MJ's photographs, especially those from the wedding. And the... 

Pete took it from the drawer and ran his fingers over the dark surface. No, he'd have to keep this one. Just one thing, one thing of her's. Of his. He took a deep breath and set the sonogram back in the drawer.

His Aunt's medications. Her clothes. Her earrings. Everything he could possibly load into one box. 

Pete stopped at the closet, let his mop of curls splay out over his head against the door. The suits. He couldn't be spiderman anymore. He couldn't be the hero that Tony had seen him as. All of it, so inexplicably tied to his dead mentor. Everything had started with him.

It all had to go.

So, later that night, he brought the bundles, suits folded over one another, rings, photographs, wedding suits, Lego sets, out to the park. It was just across the street, not far out. He made his way to the most desolate and convenient clearing, and set the box down. 

It was wet, muddy. It had rained, earlier that night, leaving wet streaks of grass stains across the legs of his jeans. Mud squelched under his sneakers, and Peter wiped his brow of perspiration.

He began digging. Just hands, burrowing into wet ground, shoveling mounds of dirt away and leaving a deeper and deeper dent. When it was deep enough, Peter sat back on his knees and breathed heavily. 

One last look at his belongings. He sifted through the contents, the glint of his wedding ring catching his eye, before dumping it all into the hole. He pushed it all deep, deep down, put all his hurt and anger and greif into the mud. As he slapped it down, harder and harder, burying his pain, he heard the familiar voice behind him.

"Pete?"

It was enough to tear his heart out. He couldn't stop himself from crying as Steve set his hand on his shoulder.

"What're you doing?"

Peter clamped a mud-caked hand over the bridge of his nose, weeping into it.

"How - did you know - how did you know I'd- I'd be here?" He sniffed. Steve knelt beside him and hugged Pete around his shoulders. The kid, twenty five but all child, fell into his embrace.

"You don't remember calling me?" He asked, hugging the boy tighter as he cried.

"Did I?" Asked Pete, half crying, half laughing at the loss of the memory.

"You did." Steve set his chin in the peak of Peter's head. 

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, bud. It's okay."

~

Over the next three years, Steve stepped into the empty role of mentor. He was Pete's go-to guy for advice, his role model, his friend and father figure. It felt a betrayal, at first, to befriend the man, replacing Tony in his own way, especially after the events of the accords. But Peter needed someone, really and truly, and Steve was there to pick him up after he had fallen.

They never spoke of the events of that night again. Steve never asked him why he was in the park alone that night, or what he'd been doing. It was good, that way.

Many nights, Peter regretted all he'd thrown away, every memory he so craved to reflect on but couldn't. He didn't remember exactly where he'd buried it all, and felt embarrassed to ask.

Since Tony's re emergence into the world, it felt odd to speak to Steve. Almost as if having Tony back meant everything that had ever happened with Cap didn't matter, or hadn't even happened.

That of course, was why when Peter knew- really knew someone was wrong, was off- he did not go to the only person he felt he could. And maybe nothing would turn up of it.

 

If only it were that easy. 


	13. 15 to 20 to Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve checks in on Peter.

_One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen._

His chest inflated with Bucky's shared breath. A pulse check.

_One, Two, Three..._

~

**Twelve Hours Earlier**

"One more before you go." Buck whispered into his husband's neck. "I just want a kiss for the road."

"One for the road only works if you're going somewhere, Buck. But I'll give you one anyway." A gentle kiss. Steve relished how soft and wonderful it felt to be this relaxed and in love. This morning had gone so smoothly, so calm, under the soft blue light that poured through the window and filtered through his husband's curled hair.

When he pulled away, he took a mental picture of the man, smiled, and began to get dressed. Today would be good, he was sure of it.

The first thing he did was go for a run. The air was warming, that slow turn from winter to spring, finally oscillating faster towards the latter. Whether or not Steve was going to die- and he'd come to terms with the fact that yes, it would happen, and likely happen sooner than he liked- he was going to be otherwise healthy when he did. And that meant staying in shape, which had gotten harder as he aged and sickened. 

Most men at age 104 were already in the ground, so he supposed he was lucky on that front. However, given his 70-something year sleep, he was now physically 45. Men at 45 tended to start growing beer bellies, growing fine lines under the eyes. Salt and pepper hair. 

Steve was not like most men, but aging had certainly made its mark on his body. He had started noticing white hairs in his beard last year, smile lines, noticeable at the corners of his eyes. No gut, though, and in fact, quite the opposite due to his diagnosis. His ribs were beginning to show through his shrinking skin, which often made it painful for him to lay down. Steve Roger's was getting older, and it bothered him more than he expected. Especially now that he looked older than Stark.

Running wasn't new to him, but his lessening endurance certainly was. Ten minutes in, Steve felt his chest contracting, lungs unable to fill as they had when he was young. His heart was pounding, high up in his throat. He took his own pulse, a bit alarmed at just how fast it was beating. 

Unable to stop himself, Steve toppled to the curb, falling painfully to his heels and butt. Grass, around him, wet with dew, scraped at his wrists as he braced for impact. He took a moment to rest in the soft grass, sun, filling his pores and seeping under his skin.

Steve's phone rang in his back pocket, and he slipped it out, held it to his cheek as he answered,

"Hello?"

"Mr. Rogers?"

_Mr. Rogers._ It was Peter. God knows why he didn't feel comfortable just calling him Steve at this point. They were like brothers.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Something's wrong." The kid whispered on his line. There was something in Peter's tone that really bothered him. Hell, the boy was a few short years from 30, but his voice was soft, like a little kid. 

"Tell me." Steve's alert now, worried.

"Something... really  _bfshd is cmphigng._ " 

Damn. His voice us too muffled.

"What's that?"

"Something bad is coming. I don't know..." he starts to cry. "I just feel it. And I thought you could help, but I hope I'm not bothering you. I'm sorry." A muffled sob on his side.

"That's- it's fine, okay? Are you alright, do you want me to come get you?" 

Peter is quiet. Then,

"Can you?"

~

Steve found Peter huddled under a blanket in the bedroom of his apartment, and his heart dropped. It hadn't been this bad in a few years. The room smelled sour, and it only takes a moment to recognize the scent: Peter's thrown up in the trash bin. 

The man sat on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on Pete's shoulder through the blanket. "Hey kid." 

Peter didn't mind the nickname, even though he's supposed to be grown now. Wrapped in a soft, fleece blanket, he certainly didn't feel like a man. He didn't say a word, was too ashamed to.

"When did it start?" Asked Steve. Peter shifted under his touch. 

"A few days ago. I can't... I can't get out."

"Sure you can. And your voice is super muffled. Can I see your face?"

Peter hesitated for a good moment before lowering the blanket just slightly, til it was under his chin. He'd clearly been crying, and for a while. His eyes were puffy, bloodshot. His hair was a full fledged mess.

"It's super bright." He added, shielding his eyes from the light. "And everything hurts. I can feel it, Cap. I can feel it right into my bones." He took out one arm from under the blanket, and gestured to his body as if in an example. He sat up a bit, which was an encouraging sign for Steve.

"Why do you think it hurts?" Proded Steve. Peter burst in to tears and buried his head in his hands. Shit. Wrong question. Steve held his hand until the tears slowed.

"I don't know," slurred Peter, wiping snot and tears from his face. "I just feel  _wrong._ And I don't understand why."

The man gave the boy's hand a squeeze. "Okay," he added after a moment, "Okay, then we'll find that out together. It started a few days ago? What were you doing when it started?" 

Peter looked down at his feet, ashamed. He sniffed before leaning down and grabbing his phone from under the bed. After he turned it on and scrolled through it for a moment, he presented it to Steve.

Steve's expression flattened, sadly. It's news footage of Spiderman- Peter, from years and years ago, before he- well, he didn't know exactly why that had stopped, but he knew that it has something to do with the night he found Pete in the park. 

"Why were you looking through stuff like that, Pete?" 

Peter sniffled, and two tears rolled down the sides of his cheeks. "I don't know. I guess I miss being useful, I miss helping people."

Steve knew that feeling. It had been years since he retired- " _You're a hundred years old, Roger's. Kick back and relax_ "- and while it was incredible to devote his time to his husband, there was something to being a real, true superhero. And in retirement, he was just... what came after. 

"I know the feeling," Steve admitted. "Trust me. But I'm telling you, I don't think anything bad is gonna happen right now. I have a great feeling about today. So how about you change your clothes and come out with me and Buck, tonight. We could go see a movie."

Peter smiled, perked up. "You really don't think anything bad is going to happen."

"I really don't. Today is going to be awesome."

~

**12 Hours Later**

Another pulse check. Bucky fell back on his knees, out of breath. If someone didn't come soon, he would never regain consciousness. 

"Help!" He screamed to no one.

"Someone help!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, my dudes! How goes it? Also, sorry for leaving you with a cliffhanger 😏


	14. Get to know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger seeps into Tony and Peter's lives, and things become even more dire.

Two kids. Two kids that changed and grew and developed in a world without Tony Stark. And they grew up just fine. 

This was Pepper's argument for the remainder of their custody, and in all fairness, it wasn't exactly untrue. Tony had nothing to do with who they where or what they did. They liked him, sure, and they'd grown up with the general knowledge of him, but other than that, they were entirely Pepper's and Rhodey's. Tony couldn't hate her for that.

Then again, he felt it was necessary to reintegrate himself into their lives, as he had to be something- someone- to them. If he just let the kids sink away from him and retreat back into a life without him, he would be nobody. He was already nobody, a cast out from the group.

He tried to talk to Steve, but he was so shrouded, so secretive. There were hundreds of unknowns, of thoughts left unsaid. Tony knew he'd messed up when he averted the Cassiopeia disaster, even if it saved hundreds of lives. He'd messed everything up. And if he'd just let it crash down, let it kill all those people and himself, it would be so much simpler. Even in not doing anything, Tony likely would've been remembered a hero, still a self-sacrificing dumbass, but a good one- and a dead one. It was easier to love a dead person than a live one. 

In truth, that's all Tony wanted. More than anything, he craved Pepper's love, the kid's, Rhodey, Steve, Peter. Everyone. He just wanted to be loved, and there were no givers. No takers, either. But kids loved easily, didnt understand the complexities of grudges and hard earned forgiveness. They loved freely and willingly with ease. And maybe it was wrong to try to win their favor, but he wanted to show them that he could be there, wanted to prove he could be a good dad, could be a loving and caring father that was constant and wouldn't disappoint. In other words, better than his own father. 

And so they argued, him and Pepper, about whether or not he had the right to take the kids out, for one day, one day maybe two, until she finally accepted his offer- albeit, begrudgingly. Tony thanked her profoundly and promised to take care of them and make sure not one hair on their beautiful heads were harmed.

At this point and time, Tony and the kids had met on several occasions since their first meeting. Two months ago, he came back home to a home that wasn't there, and in seeing and knowing them, a part of Tony Stark reemerged. Some lost price of his heart, a sense of belonging, and he owed it to them to show them a good life in which he was included.

The trip would span two days, a night spent at a rather mediocre hotel- "Nothing too fancy, Tony. They don't need gold bed frames."- and would be visiting several museums. It was a little cheesy, he guessed, to do something so touristy, but the it was the kids' idea. So he'd shrugged it off and agreed, because after all, the point of this was to bond and establish a relationship. 

Now, Tony and the kids were clambering into a crowded metro. It had that standard metro smell, electricity and fast food and just a little bit of sweat. TJ wore a ballcap, a Giants emblem on the front. His dark hair wafted up in the air, static making it stand on end. Morgan had on little rectangular glasses, cherry colored. Tony hadn't known that she needed them.

She looked up at him from her tablet with a slight smile. "So Morgan," Tony began, searching for a conversation where there wasn't one. "What're you working on?"

"She's fixing the bugs on an app she designed." Interjected TJ. "It's for pregnant ladies to track the progression in the growth of their fetuses."

Tony paused, and Morgan giggled. "It's pretty cool, actually. I remember mommy looking up stuff like, what does the baby look like, every couple of months when she was having Charlie. So this time I wanted it to be different."

Tony nodded, but wasn't quite understanding. This time? But Morgan kept on working, unfazed. "Here," she said, flipping the screen around towards him. "Pretend you're having a baby. Pick a month."

The father looked at the screen. The general format was sweet, a soft lavender background. In the middle, there was a little cartoon circle, colored in a deep mahogany. To the side of the circle were options- days to weeks to months. Tony pressed month three with his index finger.

The screen dinged with a congratulatory sound, and something inside the circle expanded and swirled until it formed a cartoon fetus- complete with fingers and toes. Text at the top of the screen described what had developed by three months. 

Tony was amazed and astounded. He looked up at his daughter, unsure of what to say. Morgan reached out and took the kindle and smiled again, deep dimples forming in her cheeks. "I think it's cool, at least," she said, pressing something on the screen back in her seat. "But it glitches, so I'm fixing that. Plus I'm having TJ do the art a little more realistic."

It took a moment for Tony to be able to compose himself enough to say anything to either of them without bursting into tears. Pride swelled in his chest, and some other emotion, sadness, maybe. 

"That is simply amazing," he said after far too long. "How long did it take you?"

"Two months," she said, confident. "Plus a week."

"Two months?" Tony stammered. "Morgan, that's amazing. And TJ, you did the art for this? I didn't know you-"

"I know," said TJ, looking away. "But you really don't know a lot about us."

That shut Tony up for a while. He looked down at his knees, ashamed that what TJ had said was exactly right. Morgan looked at him sympathetically and elbowed TJ in the chest. 

"He's nice," she whispered to TJ. Tony could hear her, and a part of him crumpled on the inside. 'He's nice' is something you say about your neighbor, a friend of a friend that means little to you. You don't say your father is nice. And he knew it, knew it from the beginning. He may be their father, but he certainly wasn't their dad. And still? He could make them happy. He could still try.

~

Peter stepped into the resteraunt and shuddered at the sight of the crowd. "Are we sure this is, you know, the right place to be?" Former heroes were a big deal, just as big a deal as the current ones, and people couldn't help snapping photographs of them at every waking moment. Instinct told Peter that it wasn't the right move right now, to have so many people around. He still felt that deep seeded panic, that wrong-ness to the day, to the world. Something bad was going to happen,  but Steve remained just as stubborn as always. "Its going to be a good day," he said in the car on the way there, "and here's why. If you let your pain eat you up, it wins. You get to choose how to live with it. And you can, Peter." He swallowed, gazing out at the open road. "You can live with it."

As they made their way to the bar, Bucky clapped a hand on Pete's shoulder. "Nothing bad is gonna happen. We wont let it." And Peter was content with that.

They drank for a good while, even Steve, who, eleven drinks in, was still the designated driver. And while the alcohol did take the edge from Peter, he still felt that constant worry in the back of his chest. He noticed, a few shots in, some wandering gazes from a young couple nearby. It felt wrong- they felt wrong. Dark glances at them as if they had something to conceal under their foreboding expressions. A whisper under their hushed breaths. A secret, shared. He could feel their darkness, fifty feet away.

Pete tapped Steve on the shoulder in the middle of one of his war stories. Steve turned, followed Peter's line of eyesight. "What is it-" he was about to ask, until he caught the couple's glare. He stopped, then, too, dead silent. Bucky followed suit, and the three of them stood, exchanging glares with the young man and woman. 

"Buck," said Steve, "Get the car ready."

~

They went to the National Heroes Museum. Many exhibits had been added to it since Tony's 'death', including one solely focused on him. It wasn't Tony's favorite idea, especially considering the NHM was majorly devoted to superheroes that had already passed on, and he wasn't in the mood fo feel so sad, but hey, this was the kids' day, and God damn it, he was going to let them have it.

The kids, of course, chose to go through the Avengers exhibit; on of their favorite heroes was Hawkeye, especially after Clint lost his hearing. He'd taught them ASL as they grew up, and Tony made a deal with Morgan that she would teach him how to sign as well. TJ liked Peter Quill, which Tony was kind of amused by, and Morgan loved everybody. But the real kicker, was that Tony himself was her favorite Avenger. Midway through their museum rendezvous, she dragged him to his very own Iron Man exhibit.

Once inside, there were pieces of old suits, trinkets, robots he'd made in the past. Tony froze. Dum-E, behind a pane of glass, unmoving. Stark pressed a hand against the glass and felt his eyes sting. Morgan placed her own hand over his, standing on her tiptoes. "We'll save him," she whispered to her father, "I promise."

"Sir," said a member of Museum staff, "Please don't touch the glass."

Tony turned, conveniently directly by a framed photograph of himself, ten years prior. The staff member paled. "Oh goodness. Hello, Mr. Stark."

Tony waved as she walked away, holding Morgan's hand with his free one. He looked down at her and they simultaneously giggled. 

Then, his birth and death date. A replica of one of his suits stood in the center of the room, hand raised and ready to blast, fire off at those that passed it by, and underneath,  _1970-2020_.

Tony stopped in his tracks. Did no one know? Why had they not corrected the dates? He felt his skin clam up, a cold, wet feeling spreading over every inch of him. He was known, to most of these people, as a dead man. Dead, gone, and walking around as if nothing had happened. And that damned dash, now it was open ended. 1970 to nothing. And now that he was very not dead, the overwhelming possibility of becoming again very dead was making him-

Morgan squeezed his hand. "Rhodey gets panic attacks." She said, quietly. At ten, this kid was wiser than he had been at twice her age. "He gets them all the time. Do you need to sit down?"

She looked up at him with big, brown-hazel eyes and smiled, gently. "I'll sit with you."

And just like that, his panic ceased. That sort of thing had never happened before, such an easy fix to such a terrible and detrimental experience. "Thank you," he said, catching his breath. "But I think I'm okay."

TJ tugged on Tony's shirt. "Hey, sorry to interrupt your after school special, but I think we have a problem."

Tony looked to him, then what he was subtly pointing at. Just beyond the Iron Man statue, two men in coats watched them behind sunglasses. As one of them shifted, Tony noticed a revolver in one of their side pockets. 

"Shit." Said Tony, under his breath. "Stay with me. We need to get out of here."

"Is something wrong?" Asked Morgan, voice laced with panic.

"I don't know. But we should leave in case there is." And as he turned them softly, he heard the sharp click of a trigger snap behind them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE THIS IS THE LAST CLIFFHANGER. EVERYTHING WILL BE EXPLAINED SOON


	15. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Peter, and Bucky try to enjoy an evening at a bar, and Tony must face consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long. I'll be posting a lot more, now; I've recently overcome three years worth of clinical depression and am no longer in a rut. Expect some whumpy and angsty chapters coming up, though.  
> Honey, you've got a big storm coming.

There was something to be said of dying in the arms of your first love. That was how he'd imagined it, wrapped up in the sheets of his own bed, curled and limp against the body of his husband. If he'd had a choice in the matter, that was how it would've happened.

And yet, the body, slack and breathless, nestled in the lap of James Barnes was not Steve; instead, a child, curls of chestnut hair hanging threadily towards the bloody floor. Blood- so much of it. It poured endlessly from the hole in the boy's side, a body that craved armor, uncovered and broken.

~*~

**Two Hours Earlier**

It was a nice evening, somewhere between the breeze of coming fall and humidity of Summer passing. Peter watched as foliage waved him on through the half opened window of the backseat of the car. His wrist dangles loosely over the glass, fingers combing through thick wind. 

He swallowed his senses, which had become overloaded in the weeks past. Although he'd been so wary to bother Steve- he had enough on his plate, what with his illness- it was turning out to have been a worthy venture. If felt good, the open air on his cheeks, a sting of rain-scented air in his eyes and nose. It was nice, not being confined to his blanket, the stillness of his room. Of course, he was anxious to be so far from safety, but with his comrades, he didn't feel that he was in too much danger.

One glance at the console between the husbands, Peter noticed that they were holding hands, one of Steve's at the wheel, the other, gently rubbing the back of Buck's hand with his thumb. Peter smiled at the quiet innocence and felt a pang of longing for the love he'd had once, and lost.

A flash of bloodstained flowers strewn across the road. All of the sudden, Prter could no longer peer into the gentle love before him. His stomach turned, and he focused on the overcast sky beyond the road. 

He missed feeling normal. 

When they arrived at the bar, the smell of grilled burgers, grease, and fried potatoes filled the air. "Jesus, I'm hungry," retorted Bucky, closing the car door behind him. "I didn't even realise."

Peter envied that, too; the strength to eat, to stomach anything when so much was left in the air. He tried to swallow that anxiety, to make room for dinner and drinks.

Steve picked up on his uneasiness and set a hand on his shoulder as they walked. "It's gonna be okay, kid. I told you, today is going to be good."

Peter shifted closer into Steve's strong hands and leaned against him like a son would a father. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, bud."

He looked down at the boy, blue-green eyes peircing behind his sunglasses. 

"I promise."

~*~

Tony managed not to flinch as the nose of the gun dug deeper into his hair. His breath quickened, imperceptible to nearly anyone else. Morgan, at his side, however, picked up on his speeding pulse, and gripped his hand tighter, then.

"Don't move," said a voice, slippery and thick, like syrup, behind him. A masculine voice. Tony did his best, although his muscles flinched uncontrollably around his children. He swallowed and took in a sharp breath- did speaking count towards movement. 

"In fact," continued the voice, further away from Stark, now. "The same goes for all of you." The man waved the gun at a crowd of huddled Museum goers, who were now cowering against the wall. "Unless you'd like your skull blown off."

The crowd shuddered, many trying to remain still. A woman in the group, clearly frightened, took this exact moment to do the opposite, separating herself from the group.

Angered, the man aimed his weapon at her head, and fired. The woman collapsed to the grey tile, blood pouring from the open wound in the crown of her skull. The crowd jumped in unison, contagious shock rippling through the onlookers. Shrieks rang out here and there. Another person in the group, likely the dead women's friend, scurried to tend to her.

This earned her a shot to the chest. This time, no one rushed to her aid. 

"Believe me," said the man, "it is integral to your survival that you listen to me. Is that so hard to understand?"

This seemed to work, as every breath, every flinch was stilled, silenced. The man nodded and crossed around Tony til he was looking him in the eye.

"Mm," hummed the man, inspecting Stark and his kids. "A fine looking bunch, aren't you."

He stopped before Morgan, caressing a strawberry blonde curl on the top of her head. "Especially this one."

Tony's grip on her hand tightened. "Please don't touch them." He pleaded, gentler than he expected to. "You can have me, okay? But just, please, let them go."

The man considered this, gazing into Tony's chocolate eyes. "Okay," he said, with little hesitation. "They're not really adding to anything."

One, tight squeeze of their hands, and Tony let the children go. "Get out of here," he ushered, pushing them away. "I'll be okay, just go."

~*~

Steve ordered another round of shots. For him and Bucky, there would be no getting drunk. Peter, however, was at first, a lightweight, and then rapidly sobered up due to his metabolism. Not the best drinking buddies in the world, but they still enjoyed each other's company. 

Peter coughed almost instantaneously as he downed the shot. 

"You cannot take your liquor, can you?"

Peter wiped his mouth and laughed through his coughing fit. "It's spicy!"

Steve laughed. "I have been alive for more than a hundred years, and I have never heard someone call vodka spicy. It is quite possibly the least- spicy, hot, whatever you want to call it- drink, ever."

Peter smiled. "Yeah, fuck you."

Bucky leaned into his husband shoulder. "Did you hear that? Kid just used a bad language word."

"I'm not a kid, James Buchanon Barnes. I am 27 years old."

"I thought you were 28?"

Peter, already tipsy- on his third round of shots- considered this. "I may be 28. I don't really know."

"And besides," interrupted Steve, "He can say whatever the fuck he wants."

Peter looked up at him, shocked. "Did you just say the fuck word?"

As they started to laugh, Peter noticed someone across from them, in the opposite booth, who seemed to stare at him a bit too intently. Her eyes, strangely dark; the laughter around Peter consumed him, and he felt as if he could join in if he wanted to. But something about the gaze of the woman in the booth...

"Hey," said Peter, setting a hand on Bucky's forearm. "Hey." 

Their laughter dissipated. "You see her?" He slurred, nodding in her direction. "The lady? She's staring at us."

Steve and Bucky shared a look, concerned, but not for the sake of the woman. 

"It's fine, Pete- she probably just recognizes us."

Peter took a deep breath and downed another shot, trying not to look at her. He didn't quite buy it, but he wanted to. It was just his paranoia, his anxiety, and it was trying to get in the way of his enjoyment. Tonight, he was going to actually live a little, regardless if it was under the watchful eye of the stranger.

~*~

"You don't remember me, do you?" Asked the man, close enough to Tony that he could smell his breath- something like wet sparks- and he tried his best not to flinch away. Tony shook his head, sorry to have caused anything. 

"I'm not suprised. A man as self absorbed as yourself- how are you meant to see anything beyond your own ego? I'll introduce myself then."

He held out his hand, for Tony to shake. Tony refused, hands clamped to his sides. 

"Adrian," he announced, "Adrian Zimmerman. This here," he said, hand extended somewhere behind Tony, who turned to to see a slightly larger man, also armed, bald, and just generally the asshole-type. "Is Markus. And as long as you cooperate? You, and the rest of these fine people will survive. You understand?"

"I understand that you're a psychopathic douchebag, sure."

Adrian grinned, a sickening small, all gums. Something about it was off, slack in a way a smile would not naturally be.

"Charming as always."

"Thanks, it's one of my best qualities."

Adrian was making a circle around him, a slow, tipping thing. Tony made sure to follow his movements, guarded but vulnerable to any blow he may have had to offer.

"Ah, and you have a good lot of those. A tech genius, yes? At least, that is what everyone here seems to call you."

Tony folded his arms across his chest, an unconscious effort to preserve the arc reactor.

"Is that so? I hadn't noticed. Yeah, I'm pretty good with machines."

"You good at fixing things?" Asked Adrian, green eyes so incredibly peircing, drilling through Tony's skull.

"Get to the point, asshole."

Adrian stopped, suddenly, standing between Markus and Tony. That grin again, an expression that, worn on the man made him so incredibly uncomfortable. It was a faux face, a mockery of a smile. Something about this man was entirely fake, like an animatronic wax figure.

"You remember the colony?"

Tony froze. Oh god-

"The one you manipulated and stole from?"

He wanted to interrupt, to explain. After all, what he'd done, it hadn't been so bad. He just needed to get home, to his wife, to his friends, to... to Peter.

"You're from Vialedare." Stayed Tony, matter of factly. His heart sank- he hadn't meant to harm them.

"Indeed. In fact- thanks to you- the entire remaining population has no where else to go- you know where they are now?"

Tony swallowed.

"It's quite funny; you'll never tell the difference between us, and you. Not really. Everyone here is fake, how are we any different? How could we possibly stand out."

Adrian turned to the remaining hostages and grinned that sickening grin. "See, what your 'hero' has failed to inform you, is that, when he abandoned you all, he drove a war ship, of whom he was the sole target, to our home planet. Killing off," he said, holding his arms out in a broad display, "Half of our remaining population. Now, to be fair, we were already quite small to begin with. Dwindling down, as our programming required extensive maintenance and care- and, as luck would have it, advanced technology."

Adrian grazed his forearm with one fingernail and began shredding into the skin. No blood, no mess: synthetic flesh, like soft rubber. He peeled it away and it dangled loosely from exposed circuits and metal. He was an android, much like vision, albeit, slightly less realistic. Artificial intelligence.

"And now that our home planet has not only been destroyed by you savior, but also pillaged of a technological supply that was already dwindling, he will now be supplying us of each, and every thing that we ask of him- or every single one of you will die."

A gasp from the crowd, high pitched and rushed. 

Tony held up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, Adrian. Markus. To all of you. What I was doing... I was trying my best to get away, to save the people I cared about in the best way I knew how. And in doing that- I hurt you, I hurt all of you, and I am so, so sorry."

Adrian turned back to him sharply. "Don't tell me that. Tell them."

A swift swing of the firearm, without looking to the crowd, Adrian fired three times, bullets flying and hitting hostages in random spots.

Adrian took in a deep, hollow breath. "You will pay for their lives, Stark. The lives of my people. The lives of yours. And you will rebuild our cities."

~*~

Peter stirred the ice cubes in his Sprite with his pinkie finger. He'd been drunk for a good bit of time now, and was slowly sobering up, his metabolism taking over. There was a sadness to letting go of the relaxed and joyful calm of being inebriated. 

Peter smiled up at the couple, who leaned against one another. "I was so worried, for so long. You know?"

Bucky perked up, and brushed his thick, short hair out of his eyes. "I mean, yeah, but what about?"

Peter swallowed his worry. "I guess I thought... I thought I was going to die. Or someone would. I was so sure, and I don't even know why, now. I feel... good. And it's been a while since I have."

Steve smiled, hugging his husband tighter then. Peter continued on about something, but the tv behind the bar- Steve was right in the perfect spot as to not have to crane his neck to see it.

Captions danced across the screen, and he felt his heart begin to race. He tapped Buck on the wrist, trying not to be too obvious. The kid couldn't see this, shouldn't, or he'd have a panic attack. Bucky glanced up and froze when he saw it.

On the screen, the news was covering a hostage situation at the national heroes museum, and Tony Stark was inside.

~*~

Shattered glass and spilled wine on hardwood floor. An empty bar, save two figures, huddled together. One of them was dead, the other silently sobbing into his chest.

The crying man clutched the corpse of his friend and brushed a bloody hand over his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so, so sorry."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, that was a long wait, huh? Like, a super long cliffhanger. Wish I could say that I was done with those, but I'm a total slut for cliffhangers.


	16. It's About Goddamned Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries to diffuse a situation and things get much, much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again! How are y'all enjoying it? I'm having a lot of fun getting back into the swing of writing.

And yet, dying was a curious thing; slippery and thin, not a solid or a liquid or a gas, but a nothingness that took over the body as dark replaces light. A hand on his chest, feeling for a pulse, Peter was not quite gone, as most would be having lost as much blood. Of course, he was unconscious, but somewhere under taut muscles and bruised bones, a heartbeat continued, slow and out of pattern, but there all the same.

This, Barnes could not detect. Palm against chest, wheezing breaths managing to slow as he gained control of his emotions, Bucky was so sure that the boy was dead. This, a false declaration, was news he had to deliver, and he dreaded what was coming.

~*~

One Hour Earlier

Despite the panic rising within him, Steve managed to remain calm. A shared look between him and his husband, a nod- and he carefully slid out of the booth. "Just gotta pee. I'll be back in a sec."

Peter took a sip of his Sprite and smiled. Bucky tried to return the gesture, determined not to show the boy his pent up fear. Then- the woman. Peter had noticed her earlier, and they had simply brushed him off.

Blonde hair hung in loops over her eyes, a set of electric green irises. James was very much a gay man, as he'd come to embrace as of late. He'd often used bisexuality as a loophole, an excuse to say that he wasn't all bad- as if being a homosexual was bad in origin. Like many things done in his past, he regretted this, as being bisexual was entirely valid: it just was not his primary adjective. All this aside, it was quite obvious that this woman was beautiful, almost insanely so. 

Bucky studied her, curious; this woman was quite literally, perfect. At least, on a surface level. When at first glance, her skin shone with youth, smooth and flawless, her hair perfectly cupping her gently sharp jaw, there was something deeper within her that James could not place. Imperfection, not in looks, but in posture, in placement. 

She was smiling at him, teeth so white, straightened and clean. She obviously has not partaken in the plate of wings before her. It made him intensely uncomfortable, not because of her obvious attraction, but of the fact that this was not so. Bucky was no stranger to female attention, as he himself was quite attractive, but he was unfamiliar with this gaze. Unpracticed and strangely inhuman. Inhuman...

That was it. She seemed, fake, if fake could be so convincingly real. A perfect copy, a combination of all generic beauty. A faux queen, menacing and sharp at all edges. 

And, as if she could feel his growing anxiousness, she broke the gaze and leaned back against her chair. In place, directly behind her, a man, as incorrectly perfect as the woman.

This time, a key difference. There was no food in front of him; instead, a gun. 

~*~

Tony Stark was not new to disappointing others; in fact, most of his life, he'd felt that he was constantly a great let down to others, a cause for pain and destruction and the emotions that surrounded such. And maybe that was why he'd taken it upon himself to save the city from the Casseopia, to the expense of lost years of his life- he'd been so determined not to dissapoint that he caused a much worse pain than a simple, eternal disappearance would have resulted in.

But the people of Vialedare- or, in all technical terms, not exactly "people" as much as they were a population of spectacularly intelligent androids that resembled humans- the feeling of guilt he had for them amounted to the worst, self-dissapointment he had ever experienced.

As much as Stark wanted to retort with some quippy response, easing the tension for the surrounding hostages, he knew that this was, in no way, the right time to do so, and even if it were, he was so terribly frustrated with his own actions that he couldn't bear to make light of their tradgedy.

As far as rebuilding cities and saving a dying population, he was not quite so sure of the workings. But he would try. If he could, he would try.

"Okay, Adrian. Tell me how to do that, and I'll do it. Just, please dont hurt anybody else."

Adrian's gun remained steadily aimed at Tony's chest. "Including me." said Tony, hands up in surrender. 

The android paced the floor around him, thinking. "Idolotry, it's a form of brainwash, yes? Master manipulation, at the hands of a hero." 

He stopped, cocked his head, and smiled. "If all were to work out, for the both of us, the world would accept us. My people. As I mentioned, we blend in quite well. You would hardly be able to tell the difference were myself or my comrades to be thrown into the melting pots of a city crowd. But,"

He continued, waving his gun in the air as he gestured.

"The issue here is, that people- your people, that is, will form a false association with my people and destruction. Lives lost at the hands of an alien species. In the short time I've been here, I can't help but notice that in your world, the entertainment industry makes millions of that very concept. Once someone gets an idea in their head that something is bad, it must be perceived the same by everyone. Check any social media and you'll find evidence of this everywhere."

He pointed to the several security cameras around the building.

"Unfortunately, you brought this upon yourself. You destroyed our cities and stole from us, and for what? To save your world? Are we not simply doing the exact same? And yet, we will be demonized. We will be demonized because your species cannot bear to go a moment without a cellphone, a camera, taking endless snapshots and video of the good, the bad, and the things they don't understand. The world is going to see us, Stark. It must, because there is just no way around it. And we, we are not going anywhere. Which is where you come in."

He grinned, and Tony could not help but wonder if this species truly understood the concept of a smile, of joy, and how this expression was only a mockery of those that he'd seen on Earth.

"And not just you, either; association, it's a dangerous thing. And it comes in quite handy in this situation. If you do not accept our orders, we will end the lives of every single person you care about. In fact, we have a set of eyes of a few such people, right this minute."

Tony's jaw instinctively clenched, wondering who- and why, why must his actions affect those he cared about so drastically.

"What do you want from me," asked Stark, trying to remain calm.

"What I want? What I want is to use your status as manipulation. What I want is for you to convince your people that we should be accepted- and better yet, integrated- into your world. We could make amends, could we not, if you were to brainwash your people? What I want- what we all want, really, is to repopulate. Is to live and not fear our destruction at the hands of you and your villainous brethren. And if you say no? We will just have to replace you."

Tony studied him, then, the horrid, false man before him. The bodies of the bloodied people, shot and murdered, brain matter pooled against the skull of one. The fear on the faces of the hostages. His own pani, threatening to drown him.

And then, a glint of light. Red and gold metal, tethered to a wall behind glass; an antique suit, a very late addition to the many he'd created in his time, but so old, now, to those that had come to visit it.

A plan. Anger, in his heart, and sorrow for the destruction he'd caused. However, as terrible as his mistaken actions of the past had been, and how terribly he felt, what havoc Adrian and his acquaintance had wreaked was intolerable. 

"Idolization, huh?" Asked Tony, stalling. "You really think anyone here idolizes me?"

Adrian let out a laugh. "Look around, Stark. Half the people here are wearing merchandise branded to you."

As he turned to face the hostages, Tony seized the moment, kicking in the wall of glass with one swift movement, watching as the suit toppled over and crumpled to the floor.

Adrian was clearly taken aback, firing off the gun accidentally at the tile floor. Tony ducked down, fitting a titanium alloy glove around his hand. It confirmed to the grooves of his wrist and fingers as it awakened, recognizing its owner instantly.

 All the anger, frustration and sorrow he'd gone through in recent months flooded his system, the adrenaline of a suffering man. Although, at first, he'd felt so compelled to preserve, guilt from having brought the alien here in the first place, Tony was not going to hesitate to bring the men down. After all, there were only two of them.

Stark aimed and fired a blaster at Adrian's calf. Chunks of frayed metal and synthetic skin sprayed across the floor behind him. This didn't seem to cause him any pain, as much as it was a minor inconvenience.

To Tony's suprise, he dropped the gun- perhaps in surrender? But no, as it could never be so simple. Adrian grinned and made his way towards Tony at an alarming speed, with all the sheer force of a freight train. Stark hardly had time to pull his helmet up and slide it over his skull before Adrian's body met his own, sending him crashing to the floor, knocking the breath from his chest and leaving him hollow.

"Zia- he's become problematic. Do with them as you will."

As Tony tried to regain his ability to breath, the words hit him like shards of glass. Do with them what you will. It was Markus, giving his people the all clear over an earpiece. 

"I would cancel that order, if I were you," said a voice behind him. Tony turned, recognizing the tambor, and felt relief though every bone in his body.

~*~

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was just Peter's warnings. 

All the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Bucky swallowed and watched then carefully. Peter was getting tired now, leaning back against the soft, red leather booth, head lolling against the wall. 

"He's been in the bathroom for like, forty-five minutes," said Peter, looking up at him curiously. Bucky couldn't look away from the people in the booth across from him, and it didn't take long for the kid to notice.

"Jesus," whispered Peter, catching sight of the gun. "Jesus, fuck." He backed up against the wall, alert now. "I fucking told you."

Bucky set a hand in the table, shaking. "I know. Shh. Don't draw attention to yourself. Just stay still."

But, clearly, the attention had already been drawn. Bucky's breath stilled, a wave of eerie calm settling over him, as a storm breaks for mere seconds before resuming. Caught in the eye of a tornado, James stood, yanking the boy up from his seat by the wrist.

Peter flailed, terrified, at first, as Bucky tried to pull him to safety. There was not really a plan, here, only an urge to get somewhere, anywhere to safety. But, as far as spur of the moment escapes go, it was almost entirely unsuccessful. Peter tripped and fell, a bundle on the floor of the crowded resteraunt. 

The man from the table stood, holding his weapon high, aiming it directly at Peter's frame. The boy ducked immediately as the man fired, and- despite his fear, darted forwards, faster than he'd expected. Without the suit, Peter didn't have the choice of using webs, but he was still strong, regardless of his lack of practice. He slid forward, kicking the man in the shins, toppling him over and grabbing his gun in one move.

Peter stood, holding the weapon to the man's head. "Who are you?" He demanded, pressing the gun into his skin. "Who sent you?"

The click of another weapon, held, this time, not at Peter, but at Bucky. Peter's heart dropped, remembering the woman. 

"You can thank Tony Stark," she snarled, face rigid and mechanical. "For this."

And as she readied her gun, her plan dissolved. These people- not humans, that much was clear- were obviously unaware of who they were working with. At least, they surely underestimated who they were working with.

James Barnes launched himself forwards, knocking the android on her ass. She looked up, horrified, as he kicked her in the chest. He was usually against hitting women, but this was an exception. He grabbed her own gun and kicked it aside. "Stay down," he muttered, a guttural anger creeping up in him. He hadn't felt this kind of rage in so long, had reined it in so severely that to take someone down once again felt so damn good.

Peter couldn't help but smile, so distracted by how easy it had been to take down their competition that he hadn't kept his sole focus on the man before him.

It happened so quickly, a flash of sleek black, the nozzle of a gun aimed directly for his side.

The last thing Peter did before he was shot, was smile, and that, if anything, was comforting. 

~*~

The sound of the shield ricocheting through the air whizzed past Tony's head by an inch, hitting Markus squarely in the chest and sending him flying backwards.

Steve walked out from the shadows, a smirk on his perfect face. Tony couldn't help but smile- perhaps out of relief, or excitement. "Unless you want more of your people to die, that is. We both know they wont last against mine."

The shield boomeranged back, flying into his arms with ease. "You say that now," said Adrian, stepping forward, injured body ready to attack once again, "but when you are clutching their lifeless bodies, you will see your error in judgement."

Steve shrugged. "Agree to disagree?"

He cocked his fist backwards and hit the expectant android in the jaw, displacing the machinery under the fake skin. Adrian flinched as he stepped back, adjusting the broken metal to a crooked memory of a jaw.

Steve looked at Tony, raised eyebrows. "He's creepy as fuck."

Tony laughed, pulling the iron man suit on in a swift movement. "I see you've gotten over your fear of curse words."

Steve ducked and blocked a blow from Adrian's fist, tiny in comparison to his own. "I wasn't afraid of cursing, Tony. Just respected a time and a place."

Adrian headbutted Steve, unexpectedly, and he remained calm, unharmed by the attack. "And it's about goddamned time."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts? Do you think Peter could possibly mane it through? What about Steve?


	17. Not a Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky tries desperately to save Peter, and an error occurs in stopping Adrian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter but I'm still proud of it. Hey, fun fact, I may get to work with RDJ soon. I'm going to a college in the fall where he apparently guest lectures at sometimes, which is pretty cool if you ask me lol. Also, off topic, but if I created a Stucky companion fic to this (set in the time between tony's dissapearance) would you read it?

The impact of the bullet sent Peter toppling to the floor. A hand, on his abdomen, he tried to ease the gush of blood that was pouring, now- although, he would not remember this, in the long run. Death, or at least, coming close to it, erases memories around its borders. 

Not much to fix there. The hole, gaping in his side, was far to large to patch up, unguarded and seeping with the red liquid. Life did not, as it was oft meant to, flash before his eyes. Instead, his vision clouded, and gave gentle way to darkness.

Rage ripped through Bucky's body, a primal resurgence of an ancient fury, a part of his source code glitching within the rewired spaces in his brain he'd tried so hard for so long to erase. 

The man's neck was less than warm, uncomfortably so, and lacking in the softness that human flesh gave when pressed upon. Even so, whatever species this man belonged to, his frame crumpled just as easy with a swift twist and snap of the neck. The body fell, limp, at his feet, twitching, but lifeless. James wasn't quite done, however; in the midst of his rage, he flipped the hollow body over, to face him, and pressed his heel sharply against his chest cavity, pressing harder and harder against the foreign flesh til it gave way under his weight, leaving a cavernous dent under the man's button up shirt.

Bucky remembered the nights Steve would educate him on film, everything from romantic comedies to drama to animated films. He'd never been an easy crier, not really, raised in a time where stoicism earned you a pat on the back and tears got you beat up in alleyways. Steve, in the other hand, had always been the more sensitive one- hence the many, many beatings in alleyways.

And yet, James never expected to cry at a movie about a robot. "It's the Iron Giant, Buck. It's a classic."

Bucky had rolled his eyes, leaned into his husband- then fiance's shoulder. "Is that so. It looks... colorful."

Steve had kissed his forehead, snuggled in tighter on the couch as the film began to play.

The titular character, The Iron Giant, turned out to have been from space, a weaponized bot rendered harmless by a dent in his head. Of course, he still had instincts, when encountered with weapons or immanent danger.

One scene, in which the Giant has no control, taken over by the instinctual rage he was programmed to have when faced with a gun, military men are attempting to stop him, targeting with even more weapons- and his boy, Hogarth, is the only one to be able to talk him down. As his angry red eyes simmer down to the normal, calm, white, the giant tells him that he is not a gun.

Bucky, obviously identifying with the character, had burst in to tears. When asked what was wrong, he'd just kept sobbing into Steve's shoulder, _"I'm not a gun. I'm not a gun."_

But at this moment, that was exactly what he felt like. Filled with ammunition, ready to kill if prompted.

And then- angry red eyes simmered down. He saw the boy, so big, yet so small, collapsed on the ground in a pool of his own blood. This is what he should have been tending to- not excessive damage done to an already dead villain. 

He collapsed to his knees with ease, slippery hardwood floors covered in broken glass shards from stray, shattered cups and plates, blood soaking through his jeans.

The place had cleared out by now, likely diners scattered by fear. He was alone with the boy. He placed his index and middle fingers on the side of his paling, limp neck, and felt nothing. 

Compressions. Compressions, for as long as he could manage them. But of course, they did not bring him back.

~*~

A punch to the cheek. A sting of the knuckes- god, he hadn't really fought anyone in so long. A knee to the groin. He was getting too old, and too sick for this. Tony, however, was still spry; Steve had always been older than him, but his body had been much younger and had more stamina in years passed. It pissed the captain off just a little bit.

Markus, thankfully, had been successfully knocked out- potentially killed, they would discover so, later- and so the two were working together in defeating this annoyingly strong man.

"Last time it was two against one, with us," said Tony, out of breath, landing a blow to Adrian's neck, "We didn't talk for three years."

"True enough," wheezed Steve, letting up a bit on Adrian. It was too physically draining to talk and fight. "But the jury's still out on who was right."

Tony kicked Adrian behind the kneecaps, landing the man on his shins. It felt good to be back in the suit.

"Pretty sure it was me," quipped Tony, readying a blaster at Adrian's back. "Pretty sure we decided that. Hey, step back."

And he did. The blast hit Adrian squarely between the shoulder blades. It shouldn't have been that easy, but it was. He collapsed, face first, on the tile, charred skin making the room smell like a barbeque from hell.

Tony's mask fell back, and he stood, admiring his work. "Still have a lot of energy for a hundred and twenty year old man." He smiled, looking and expecting to see Steve still standing, where he was just moments ago.

"Steve?" He asked, shocked to see him on the floor. "Hey, hey. You're okay."

Rogers was far from it, breathing heavily. He gripped the arm of the iron man suit, weak and shaking. "Get Bucky. Call him. Get- I need to see him."

Tony took Steve's hand, in his, and noticed for the first time how pale he was. "I will. I will."

~*~

Thirty minutes had passed. His arms were trembling, tears running down his cheeks and chin and on to Peter's neck. In between compressions, Bucky wiped them away. But there was no hope now.

He sank back and pulled the boy close. "I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so, so sorry."

James had felt so alone until he found Steve again. Until the three of them- Steve, Bucky, and Peter, became their own sort of family. And the family was gone, now. Steve was dying, Peter was dead.

There was a time when Bucky could feel nothing, thought of nothing, and loved nothing. He missed that.

Maybe he was better off a gun.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's funny is its about to get so much whumpier but in this weird way things get resolved? I think yall will like it.


	18. Men Turned Enemies to Strangers Once More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky must deal with Peter's injuries, as Tony deals with Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while again! Super busy getting ready for my move to LA. I can't wait for film school! Plus OMG Far From Home comes out on Tuesday. Imma flip out- I already know the spoilers and let me tell you this film is PURE WHUMP. I mean, a good lot of comedy, but it's essentially a well done angsty fanfic.

Bucky hated the smell of blood. Always had. While it invigorated some with a taste of vengeance and roaring fury, it reminded him terribly of the years in which he wasn't in control.

When he was the winter soldier, he'd spilt so much of it. It was a resolution he'd made, if not for his own sake, than for others, that he would never intentionally cause bodily harm again, unless entirely necessary.

And while this may have been the exception, the stench sat uneasily with him, a weight in his stomach with a taste of copper. Unscathed. That was the only word he could truly use to describe the boy, the only thing that was almost accurate, although, not entirely.

Of course, the hole in his side would beg to differ, but the soft, gentle closed lids, the slope of his nose, the rise of his cheekbones were entirely clear, unbroken, unbloodied. Peter lay unnaturally in James's lap, head curved to the side against his knee, body, still warm, which confused the man terribly.

Death had not touched him, had left only a fading pallor to his youthful cheeks. Somewhere within that body, a flame still flickered, silenced only by the darkness around him.

Red and blue light began to whisper against the thin glass windows, and Bucky could see police cruisers emerging behind a fog of inky, black night, accompanied by a wailing ambulance. The sound was loud enough to rattle the glasses on abandoned tables, but Bucky could not hear a thing.

Even when the officers appeared, rushing through the front door in a scattered line, or when the EMTs clambered in, James could not discern a single word, command, or question. Not until-

"He's got a pulse. Its thready and faint, but it's there."

Bucky's eyes searched for the source. Only a moment ago had the boy been propped in his arms, so it took him by suprise to find that he was now halfway across the floor, laying flatly against the hardwood.

"What? What does that mean?" The words were his, although he couldn't quite feel them in his mouth.

The EMT looked up at him, a shadow of what could've been a smile passing across her lips.

"It means he's alive."

~*~

Steve had known this was coming.

Of course, he'd expected this to arrive a bit later, but he had to make due with the time he was given.

The process of dying, at this stage, at least, was quite painful. A shred of agony, ripping through the left side of his abdomen. Something many people failed to consider was that cancer itself was not always the killer of its victims; it was the infections, the weakened immune system. In Steve's case, a large tumor in his Pancreas was causing the organ to swell, killing him from the inside out.

Hands clutching his abdomen, writhing in pain, he was confused why the pain had waited til now- perhaps the drinks earlier in the night had not helped, nor the physical exertion.

Tony sat helplessly as the waited for paramedics to arrive, holding Steve's shaking hand tightly.

"You'll be okay," reassured Tony.

Steve held his hand tighter then, wishing that simply through skin he could communicate how his survival would, in the long run, be impossible. The world was fading, pulling him from the corners and stretching him out like a bedsheet.

"No," whispered Steve, although it was not in response to his friend. He was not quite ready yet, to leave the world. There were things he needed to say, to make peace with. But death did not take bargains or pleas.

The carpet was slowly being pulled from under him, the only tether to the world, the firm grasp of a man he once knew around his wrist.

"Stay with me, Rogers." Ordered Tony. "Stay with me."

Steve managed to squeeze his hand before breathing out, "You're good, Tony."

And the world faded away.

~*~

There was a stillness to the inside of such a large, bustling vehicle, that confused James greatly. A still, calm, a settled breath held gently within the belly of the boy, strangely untouched against the roaring chaos around him. A hurricane of paramedics, EMTs, tubes, bags, false air pushed sharply into Peter's lungs, blood that continually poured from the wound.

"His pressure's dropping," a female paramedic alerted her partner. "Eighty over fifty. Seventy five over forty seven. Holdin, what's our ETA?"

A man in the front seat turned, not making eye contact with anyone in particular. "Two or three minutes."

The paramedic sighed deeply, although not letting this discourage her. She looked up at Bucky, concerned, hands, clamped around the hole in Peter's abdomen. 

The ambulance clambered over potholes, the boy's limp, blood soaked body shaking as the vehicle rumbled on. Bucky wished, in that instant, that he could switch places with Peter. 

His head was pounding. Maybe it was the anxiety, the growing worry spreading through him. Maybe he hit his head, but he couldn't quite remember. It didn't matter at the moment. He reached out, shaking hands looking for something to hold on to. The moment their skin collided Peter let out a whimper of pain, and Bucky took his hand away. "He's waking up," said James, voice quavering. "You've gotta do something, he's in pain."

His eyes opened in a flash, a darting motion in fear and confusion. "Wha-a" he wheezed, scrambling back from the hands of the medic. The skin of his abdomen twitched around the open would, aware of the injure before he was. The medic's hand, no longer staunching the flow of blood, shook in a shade of red. "Peter, I need you to calm down. You're losing a lot of blood."

Peter shrieked, suddenly very aware of the burning pain in his side. His palms met the spreading stain of red. His eyes turned to Bucky, meeting him through a haze of denial and horror. James hardly had time to help him before those same eyes rolled back in his head, and his body collapsed in a heap on the bed.

The monitors attached by a string to his smooth chest began to scream and beep and wail, everything crashing, crashing.

One of the paramedics, who looked awfully unfamiliar with the rushed, chaotic bustle of the job, reached to snatch the paddles of the wall- Jamed had seen them in medical shows- and the woman brushed him off. 

"No, he's in PEA."

She climbed up to the table and straddled Peter's legs, hands clamped one on top of the other, placing her hands above his sternum, pounding deeply with the ridged palm of her hands into his chest long enough that James lost count.

When, moments prior the world had stilled and quieted, the world setting careful hands over his ears to block out the terror, now Bucky could hear every single thing-

The blaring monitor. Wheels of the vehicle sharply scraping against asphalt. The paramedic's breath, hitched against her throat as she rose and fell with the motions of compressions. The breaking of Peter's ribs with the heavy rigour.

Bucky prayed that if Peter were to wake up again, that he would not feel any pain. 

~*~

Two ambulances met on each other's heels, stopped outside Emergency Department. The smell of gasoline, blood, and the sticky clean scent of alcohol was thick in the air, rainbow puddles of spilled oil on the stiff, dark ground. 

Paramedics and EMT's blasting from the back doors of the two vehicles, the sound of metal crashing upon metal. Wheels scrambling and screeching, carrying precious cargo, retired heroes turned active once more. Two unexpected acquaintances, and two men turned enemies turned strangers in the distance of time.

Steve on one stretcher, Peter on the other.

Concerned strangers, facing one another. Tony and James stood, confused and terrified, covered in blood, unsure of who's was whose, bloodshot eyes and trembling bodies. 

Almost in unison, as the bodies were wheeled in side by side, they turned, eyes following each other's responsibilities, the ones they forever aimed to keep safe, and swallowed their hate for eachother as they followed the injured great loves of their lives.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who do you think is making it out alive? I promise that someone will. But I can't give away more than that :)


	19. To Change it All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Tony are delivered the news on their loved ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day, I know. There are only a few chapters left now! I really hope yall are liking it. And hey, if any of yall live in the LA area and are writers, let's meet up this fall. I have a fun idea for writers group.

Tony had made his fair share of mistakes in his life. Hell, reflecting on it all, a good third of that life had been devoted to those mistakes, ripping families to shreds, causing wars, destroying friendships. Tony knew that, and didn't expect anyone else to forget it.

But for so long he hadn't considered the things he'd done those two weeks, those ten years ago, a mistake. In the end of it all, he'd saved what he needed to save, all while being as flawed as he'd ever been.

And yet, to have been away for so long, to lose Pepper and Rhodey and a family he could've had- to lose Peter- that had been the mistake. The upside was that he'd had the opportunity to get it all back, differently than he had before, but at least, a simile of an old life. The kids- who had been sent home to Pepper and Rhodey after the attack at the museum- Pepper, as a friend at least, Rhodey, who he so longed to be friends with again. And the boy, no longer a boy- someone who had always felt like his son.

A boy, no longer a boy, but a man, who looked more so a corpse. 

"What happened?" He bleated, following the stretchers until they could no longer. Both bodies were wheeled into a trauma room. "What happened to him?"

James stood against the wall, unmoving. He combed a hand through his thick, short hair, and clamped his palm over his mouth, breathless.

"Barnes, what happened?"

"He's going to die," said Bucky after far too long. Of course, he was talking about his husband, but Tony didn't know that. His face crumpled under his hand, and a sob burst from him.

"What do you mean?" Snapped Tony, the words, invisible on his tounge, a numbness to him that he could not explain.

Tears formed in the corners of Bucky's eyes, growing and tipping and falling down his cheeks. He inhaled deeply and wiped them away with the back of his hand.

"Steve," he said, his voice shaking, on the verge of a meltdown. "He's not gonna make it."

Tony flinched. "I was with him, Barnes. He's gonna be okay."

"No," breathed Bucky, sniffing. "He isn't. He's been dying for a while- he's sick."

"Sick?"

Bucky touched his side unconsciously. "Pancreatic cancer. It's spread to his brain."

Air, sucked in deeply under the skin, chest collapsing in on itself. He felt like crying, a breaking, heavy cry, but his head was already hurting so terribly that he managed to hold it in, fearing that if he started he would never stop.

All the oxygen in the room dissapeared. Tony bit his lip and zoned out on nothing in particular, his mouth suddenly so dry, his eyes watering without his consent.

Bucky felt an urge to console him, although in truth he would rather be consoled himself, but that urge was thwarted with the switch of his stomach as his dinner lurched upwards.

He turned as quickly as he could, hands pressed against the wall, and vomited on the floor, not a trash bin in sight. It felt differently than it had before, a sickness uncontrolled and random. He usually had a sense for these things, an aura before the pain, but this took him by surprise. 

"Jesus, Barnes. Are you okay?"

The man cleared his throat and wiped his lips of the spit.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." He could feel Tony's hand on his shoulder, and as much as he craved comfort, he couldn't do this right now. He brushed away Stark, and stepped away from his own vomit, hands clasped around the back of his skull.

"Peter was shot."

Tony's heart stopped, then. 

"I tried to stop it, Tony, I swear."

No words came. Stark was suddenly so hot, overcrowded, claustraphobic- he felt he may also throw up.

"And he died in the ambulance. They were trying to get them back- oh." A sob escaped him once again, ripping through his throat in an inhuman mockery of an animal in pain. James finally gave way to the waves of sorrow and fell to the white tile floor, head against the wall as he wept.

"I'm so, so sorry."

Perhaps it would have been natural to feel anger towards Barnes, after all, most of their interactions had been fueled by that exact emotion. The two certainly weren't friends,  and neither made an effort to be. But Bucky's pain was palpable, and as horrified as he was, Tony felt more sorrow than fury.

He knelt to Barnes's side, picking hip up under his shoulders, holding him up with the sheer force of will. Tony felt like collapsing, joining him in the tears, but that would have to wait for later. There was too much to process, now, to experience greif preemptively. 

"Just breathe," he said, holding the stranger tight against his chest. Bucky's arms wrapped around his neck as he cried. It felt good to let it out.

"Just breathe."

~*~

Not long after the men had been wheeled into the emergency room, Tony and Bucky were lead to a greif room. Tony had been in one before, waiting for news on his parents. He could still remember Rhodey's arms wrapped around his shoulders as the news had been delivered.

Nervousness effected the two of them differently. Tony was a fidgeted, constantly jimmying his knee, drumming his fingers against the armrests, grinding his teeth. Bucky was quiet, still, a steady stream of silent tears coating his cheeks.

Tony wasn't sure why he'd asked for a room with the man.  They hardly knew eachother, and to be totally honest, he didn't like him too terribly much, considering most circumstances. But leaving him alone felt so wrong, especially when all was so raw- after all, he'd have to watch the kid get shot.

A television in the corner of the room, mounted on the ceiling, played The Office silently. It was the episode where Oscar is outed as gay by Michael, the scene where Oscar is forced by his boss to kiss him. In the subtitles the show read, [uncomfortable grunting]. Tony almost laughed, but it felt wrong in this situation.

There was a knock at the door. Both men looked up as it opened. A doctor, or perhaps a nurse- Tony couldn't tell- entered awkwardly. There was something very solemn about her, as if she was about to deliver terrible news.

Stark's heart climbed to his throat, and he felt faint.

"I'm doctor Rajnakowski, but you can call me Doctor Raj. I've been informed that you'd like to hear all updates on both patients together- is that still the case?"

Tony and James shared a look, and nodded. "Yes." Said Tony, feeling his chest clench against his arc reactor. 

Doctor Raj gave them a simple, sad smile and sat down at on of the chairs in the corner.

"Both are alive. I figured you'd want to know that first and foremost." She focused on Tony. "Peter isn't out of the woods. The bullet hit him at such an angle that it ricocheted against one of his lower ribs, shattering and lodging itself in several spots throughout his chest, and dangerously close to his heart. Unfortunately, although one of our best surgeons is working tirelessly to remove these fragments, there are some that cannot be taken out without risking Peter's life."

Stark felt her eyes drifting to the light of the reactor under his shirt.

"I understand that this is quite similar to what happened to you, Mr. Stark, many years ago."

So long now, even longer for her, for Peter, for everyone else.

"With the technology that we have, there is little we can do to prevent these bullet fragments from traveling to his heart. And if that happens, I'm afraid we would be unable to stop the outcome. But with your technology," she said, gesturing to the arc reactor once more. He understood now, terrified of what it all implied.

"There is a good chance that we could save him and prevent the bullet from causing him any more harm. For now, he's stable."

She nodded and turned then, to James.

"Mr. Barnes? Steve is also in critical condition. It seems that whatever physical exertion he experienced earlier today has merely exhausted him- he likely would've ended up here not long from now regardless of the activity. His cancer has spread, as I'm sure you're aware. His primary tumor has gotten so large now that he's been experiencing Pancreatitis. Do you understand what that means?"

Bucky was silent, his chest rising and falling. He looked up at her with pure pain in his eyes.

"We have no way of treating pancreatitis. Now, there have been some cases of patients recovering on their own, but Steve is incredibly weak, now, and in a lot of pain. His pancreas is rupturing, and he's bleeding internally."

She swallowed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Mr. Barnes, we have a few options here. We can keep your husband under heavy sedation and painkillers, and he will likely pass peacefully in his sleep. That is our first option. He is on a ventilator, to take the pressure off his body for now. Now, if you'd rather, we can lower his sedation and take out the ventilator so you can say goodbye. I can't guarantee his lucidity, as he would still be on quite a few pain medications. We have some time, but not much. If you'd like, you can consider these options for a little bit, and I'll come check in in a while. How does that sound."

Bucky couldnt talk- couldn't really breathe, either. Steve was going to die, there was no way around that. He wasn't quite ready for what that would mean. He felt so terribly nauseous, his head still pounding. Grief did not sit well with him. The world was spinning around him, and he only had two choices. Both involved losing the love of his life.

All he could muster was a slight sound, nothing more than a gentle hum, in an effort to tell her that it sounded good. Of course, it didn't sound good, not by a long shot, but what could he possibly to change the outcome. 

The doctor forged a smile and nodded. "Okay. I'll be back in a bit, Mr. Barnes." As she stood, she turned, taking a breath. "I can't Express to you how sorry I am." She glanced at Tony, who hadn't quite let it sink in yet. 

"To both of you. If I could change this all, I would."

And though they didn't say it, as she left, both men felt the same response deep in their chest-

_I would, too._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm giving yall a minor spoiler:  
> Not one, but two people are going to have died by the end of the story. Not saying who! But feel free to guess!


	20. Don't Waste It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has to gain the courage to make Peter an Arc Reactor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I'm posting a lit, arent I? Sorry haha. But I hope you're liking it!

Building the arc reactors was second nature by now. An extension of himself, a part of his body and mind and soul. That wasn't the issue.

When he first made the reactor, he was trapped in a cave, a searing pain burned into his chest, darkness, and a stranger-turned companion his only company. He'd been able to stable himself then, to still the shaking terror that rippled through him. Perhaps it was the immanent threat of dying- and not only dying, but dying alone- that forced him to face his fears.

Today, his fears were in control. Tony took a breath, trying to steady his trembling hands and take the reins of what the next few hours would hold. He would lose a friend- no choice to make there. That had been left to Barnes. But he didn't have to lose the kid, not if he put his mind to it.

And yet, he couldn't hold his tools right, couldn't craft the reactor as easily as he once had. Frustration toppling over frustration, Stark eventually found himself on the verge of a meltdown.

_I don't want to go._

Whatever he was holding fell from his hand and to the metal table in front of him. The workshop was empty, and of course, he knew that this was a simple memory. Still, it shook him, the recollection peircing him in a part of his heart he had hoped to God would callous with time.

_I don't want to go, Mr. Stark. Please_.

And he could still feel the weight of the child against his chest as he fell, the clatter of metal suit against metal suit. How he'd tried to hold him up, this featherweight getting lighter by the moment. How the boy had fallen gently to the dirt beneath him, his soft, loops of chestnut hair cupped by Stark's caring hands. How he'd told Peter he would be alright, that he was okay, and when he couldn't follow through.

Tony gripped the sides of the table and let out a strangled noise, trying to push the rising panic down. "Please," he pleaded with no one, "Please stop."

But it couldn't, not really. The wave had been rising for quite some time now, and he knew he couldn't hold it in for much longer. This couldn't be stopped, of course it couldn't.  He hadn't had an honest-to-God panic attack in a bit of time, but the feeling was in no way foreign. 

Breath came in shallow and came out shredded. It was the kind of gasping that makes a person lightheaded, like static had filled the skull. Pins and needles down his spine, a numbness that spread like the immanent losses of everyone he cared for, everything he wanted to change but couldn't, he couldn't, he'd never be enough-

Tony collapsed to the floor, trying his best to prop himself up with his hands, trying, trying, trying. But he was so heavy now, so weighed down by what it all meant, by the idea that he could lose him now, that he could lose the thing he swore to protect and failed more than once.

He was sobbing now, no discernable one reason why; everything hit him all at once, from the moment he became Iron Man to this very second colliding with his chest, his heart, his stomach. His shoulders shuddered with the weight of it all, tears forming and getting trapped in his eyelashes. 

He cried until he could no longer, feeling empty and broken, a waste of space. A waste.

_Don't waste your life, Stark. Dont waste it_.

Something stilled in him. A storm, quieted by a rush of soft air. The night became him, and the fear fell away.

Tony had been a different man in that cave. Before that cave, too- for many years he'd become different iterations of the same person, forming and falling apart and reforming again. And it was time to change. It was time to become something better. It was time to step up, and do what needed to be done.

Stark wiped his eyes and stood, pulling himself up against the table, and got to work.

~*~

Peter didn't have any memories of being dead. Not that he would've liked to, as the thought itself terrified him quite a bit, but to not have any recollection of an afterlife, or something other than the dark nothing, was, in fact, more distressing than anything else. 

But this wasn't death, not yet. It was some space before, a place where he could see nothing, but he could hear, feel and think. Something thick and plastic in his throat made him want to gag. Parts of him were cold, and he could not pull the thin blanket over him. He was in pain, too, all throughout his being. And he was so, so terribly tired. 

But there was a doctor. Warm hands. A raspy, dark voice. He found comfort in that voice. 

"I'm a firm believer that patients can hear when they're unconscious, Peter. In fact, I've seen in a few of my own that talking to them actually eases the tension in their bodies and helps them to rest easier. Now, maybe that's nonsense, but I hope its not."

The body belonging to the voice pressed a button on some machine near Peter, and he was flooded with warmth. 

"Just adjusting your meds. You put up a helluva fight. Not quite out of the woods yet, but you're strong, Peter. In no time, all of this will work out. Until then, have you read The Lord of the Rings? It's old now, but I have patients that liked it quite a bit. You mind if I read?"

Peter didn't. There were simple comforts to find when almost dead, and the soothing voice of his doctor, horribly butchering the names of elvish characters and hobbits and towns in the novel was one of them.

And though he was sedated, on heavy painkillers, and beaten all to hell, through his sleep he almost felt like smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited for Far From home. It comes out in TWO DAYS! imma flip out


	21. Under the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky makes his choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a bit again. I'm really happy with this chapter (well, more like emotionally devastated with my choices in this) but I really hope you like it

_Inhale_. Hands that caressed cooling skin, a prayer on his lips, an apology in his heart. _Exhale_.

Of course, he could never be ready; no one ever was. Death felt unnatural for having lived so long, and so long together. James watched his husband's chest rise and fall, a peaceful rhythm for being so forced, the plastic tube lodged far into his chest. Filled with painkillers and sedatives, Steve lay, unflinching, and unable to have his say in the matter.

Steve Rogers had been brought back to life once. He hadn't chosen this, had had to adjust to a new reality far beyond the realm of his comprehension. And he'd adjusted, he'd had to. Steve was resilient, and strong. Deathly stubborn. He was dying, and his body had fought for long enough to preserve the illusion of health for those around him.

Bucky set a hand on Steve's cheek, and brushed the skin with his thumb. 

This wasn't the first time he'd ever considered the possibility of having to face life without Steve. Long before his diagnosis, the two had watched the Notebook- Bucky's first time and Steve's third. On that leather couch in the living room, intertwined in one another, Bucky had leaned against Steve's shoulder, not considering the idea that this romance could end in anything but happiness.

When, at the end, the lovers die, hand in hand, he was silent for a full hour afterwards. When Steve finally asked him what's wrong, James had looked up, eyes weary, and told him, 

_"I don't want to live in a world without you."_

_Steve had cocked his head, brows furrowed. "Who says you have to?"_

_"What I mean is- we'll die one day, wont we? And if we have to, I wish that it would be something like that."_

But life did not always allow for death in unison. It was time for Bucky to make a choice for his husband, one he never intended or wanted to make. Steve deserved better than to die, without any final words or parting goodbyes. Bucky deserved better than to lose him without the same. 

As he watched this man, so nearly lifeless, he knew what the right choice was, and decided against it. Today, he was going to do something that most people would've disagreed with, if he'd offered them the option. He was going to do what he knew Steve would've wanted.

It was a bit of a trick to persuade the doctor to do as he wished. Of course, she'd put up a good argument, but in the end, it was Bucky's choice. Screw the doctor's solemn two options. He was making a third path. It would lead to the same destination, but it would have a nice view.

~*~

Open heart surgery was far from easy, but the sanitary, crisp air under which Peter was operated on, was most definitely a better option that Tony's non-consenual operation in the middle east. 

Unlike most medical shows would have a person believe, Tony wasn't allowed to watch the surgery. And, to be completely honest, to do so would've felt like an invasion of privacy anyway. He did, however, get to see him just prior. Peter was actually awake- terribly drowsy and high on whatever pain medicine they'd given him, and he hadn't made a great lot of sense, but he'd given Tony a thumbs up before he was put under anesthetic.

The waiting room was somewhat outside the ICU, secluded, like a larger version of the grief room he'd been directed to earlier, with Bucky. He wanted to visit Steve, wanted to see how all was going with the plans his husband had to make, but he was too dumbfounded to do anything. He hadn't been a part of Steve's life in ten years, at least, to the man himself. It felt like yesterday they'd simply been in an argument. But now- everything had changed. He was no longer a real part of their lives, and he couldn't insert himself into such a personal situation. 

As Tony fell further into his intrusive thoughts, his greatest fears for Peter and Steve playing out in his mind, there was a knock at the door. Tony looked up, suprised that anyone would need to knock; this was an open waiting room, it wasn't specifically for him. Still, he shouted quietly, "Come in."

Her red hair was tucked up in a bun, a few loose strands hanging down by her cheekbones. No makeup, aside from a bit of mascara. Pepper smiled gently at him, and it was all he could do not to break down at the sight of her.

"Hey Pep." he whispered.

She crossed the floor, arms crossed, and sat down next to him at the bench, setting a hand on his. Her fingers intertwined with Tony's, and he held Pepper's hand as best be could.

"You aged a decade in a day, Tony." she said, noticing the lines of worry on his face. 

Stark turned to look at her, and smiled. "You too." He closed his eyes and let out a breath. "All of you did."

And she had; yet, she still wore the same body mist. Still had flyaways in her bun. Still smiled the same, if not less frequently. He missed her more than he could possibly describe, and wanted her back more than anything. But Rhodey had stepped up, taken his place. Tony had to be okay with. It had never been malicious, just two souls, betrayed by someone they loved, looking for comfort. They had brought life into the world. Rhodey had looked after her. Any hate or anger Tony had once had for them over the situation was melting away. Tony hoped she knew that. 

"I'm sorry. I know that's not enough, but I'm sorry."

Pepper's soft hair pressed against the wall behind her as she leaned back, studying him. "I know, Tony."

"I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

~*~

Flashes of light, passing sun and trees that waved them on. Steve lay gently in the passenger seat, half-open eyes pointed out the window. He looked strangely well, despite his pallor, the cuts on his lip from the fight. His hand was weak against Bucky's trying it's best to grip him back.

Bucky couldnt help but steal glances, the last few he'd be gifted of his husband, living and breathing, the evening sun framing his face. Looking at him, everything felt okay, if only for a moment. His head was still pounding, the world tipping around his heels. Perhaps greif just did not bode well with him.

"Do you remember that night of our anniversary, when we went to the beach, way after everyone else had left?"

Bucky looked at his husband, knowing that an answer was unlikely. A slight glance of the eyes, silver blue, turning towards him. A smile passed across his lips.

"We had Moscato, drank a whole bottle 'cause neither of us could get drunk. It rained, soaked us through. You remember that?"

Steve nodded, weakly, a smile of recollection glowing on his pale face.

"We just layed out on the sand, watching the rain come down on us. And I said-"

"I wish we could stay like this forever."

Steve licked his lips, mouth dry. He let out a pained laugh. "Course I remember. My favorite anniversary."

"Well," said Bucky, swallowing the pain. "I can't make it rain. But i thought you'd enjoy the view."

The car slowed, pulling into a parking spot. Steve looked up, curious, over the dash. Bucky pretended not to notice the tears that formed in his eyes, striking the whites a pale pink. "Is this..." a tear spilled down his cheek. 

Bucky put the car in park and steadied his breath. "It is." As he unbuckled, he leaned over, and pulled something from the middle of the console. "And it may not be a whole bottle, but its something."

A small bottle of moscato, beads of water sweating down its side and into his palm. "You ready?" He asked, knowing that neither would ever be.

Bucky had to loop his arms under Steve's to support him. Weak and tired, still under the slight haze of medicine, the sick man stumbled over his feet, still dressed in his hospital gown and a robe, leaning against the love of his life. 

When he couldn't walk anymore, he was carried, arms wrapped around Bucky's neck, head against his chest.

In a perfect world, they would've raced across the beach, run through the damp sand, let the salty water soak in through their pores. They would've kissed under the slowly sinking sun, had drunk their fill, and lived for many years onward. 

But in their perfect world, they got everything they ever needed. A few feet on to the beach, Bucky carried his husband to a spot in the sun-soaked sand, and set him down gently. The slope of the hill was perfect to watch the sun set against the water, arm in arm, resting against one another.

Next to Steve, Bucky didn't hurt so much anymore. In fact, he could hardly feel anything but his love for him.

Steve's head in the crook of his shoulder, his words started out slow and slurred, and crescendoed to clarity.

"Do me a favor, Buck. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Warm tears slid down Bucky's cheek, and he smiled up at the sun. His grip tightened on Steve, soaking in the feeling of his sacred breath. "How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you?"

~*~

Steve Rogers died quietly, calmly against his husband's comforting embrace. It went over as peacefully as death could, simple and expected. His body remained warm for hours afterward. Bucky wanted to savor just a bit more time with him, a few more hours of comfort under the falling sun.

It wouldn't be discovered until several days later that Bucky Barnes had gained a concussion earlier that day. Preoccupied with worry for his husband, he had not tended to it, nor had he alerted anyone to his symptoms.

Wrapped in the arms of his first love, Bucky Barnes passed away in his sleep. 

It was security who found them, wrapped around one another. Love, in its purest form, on display for no one and everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter coming, guys. Thank you for letting me write this for yall :)


	22. All Was Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter regains conciousness, but something is different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo, boy. Last chapter. I started this in March, right? Can't believe it's over. I hope you like this chapter. There are twisty things that I hope you enjoy. I'd love to hear your thoughts once you finish the chapter.

Hours passed uneventfully. The waiting room was mostly quiet, filled halfway with another family, composed in the majority of small children. Nervous and panicked as he was, it was, perhaps, too easy to fall asleep in that still, crowded room. Not comfortable, per say, as Tony's head was cranked against his shoulder, his pillow, a plaster wall. 

Dreamless, he drifted through blank spaces, exhausted and weary from the fight. Tony himself had earned his fair share of injuries- life threatening, not so much, but enough to cause a great deal of discomfort. Perhaps it was something about heroes, avoiding the report of their injuries to provide comfort to others. A few broken ribs, a fractured wrist. He couldn't give less of a shit. But even the pain could not keep him awake.

It was a nurse who retrieved him, a brush against his shoulder with her gentle palm. Tony shivered awake, eyelashes fluttering as he assessed his surroundings. Upon seeing her, he feared the worst, and breath caught in his throat.

"Is he-"

"Peter did great- the surgery went so well. He's resting now, if you'd like to see him."

Waves if relief crashed against his chest, pausing and hitching at each breath, the newly foreign emotion settling within Tony uneasily. 

"So he's alive?"

The nurse smiled, brushing her dark bangs out of her eyes. She was somewhat old, but had a quietly youthful smile. A glance at her nametag proved her to be "Maggie."

"Yes. He'll be out for a while, and when he wakes up, he may be a little disoriented. But implanting the arc reactor was an absolute success."

Tony swallowed, mind wandering and catching on the words. He remembered how it felt, to wake up attached to that car battery. How the pain held him fast as he thrashed, desperate to break free. This would be different, of course. Peter was under anesthesia, pain muted by a haze of drugs, body wrapped in blankets and embraced by bandages. Nurses and doctors, the shifting cast of characters to care for him. Tony had only himself, and Yinsen. For that, he was grateful.

Yet, to change him so drastically, to implant a part of himself so close to that sacred heart, Tony felt an intrusion. He'd left his whole life behind, ten years ago- had left the child on his own, and had missed the drifting years of early life. A return, at an inopportune time. And now, due to Tony's reappearance, Peter was in a bed in the ICU, breathing the smoky gift of oxygen from a ventilator. Everything he touched, he broke. He changed. He ruined.

But when Tony looked up at Nurse Maggie, she was smiling. Geniune and pure, she was thankful for what he'd done. Guilt clogged his veins, filled his chest. He gave himself a moment to let that clear before returning an effortful smile.

"Where is he?"

~*~

_525,600,000 minutes. Ten years without his mentor, his father. Ten years without Tony in his life. Broken parts still managed to function through greif, a stubborn perseverance ingrained in his heart. Peter had missed him terribly, but it was shifting now. The pain was becoming something new, something bearable._

_A dive into deep waters, murky blue-green wrapping around soft, warm skin. Flitting light dancing through the surface. An inhale. It felt nice to breathe in the water._

The doctor was careful and practiced with the removal of his breathing tube. Ridges caught and gave way to the confines of his throat, drumming against the inside of his skin as the tube rose, as the doctor guided it up and away. 

Fuzzy light morphed and changed and fit around the shape of a man. Peter felt his heart lift, pulled up and out just as the large tube was. A burst of coughing, as the ventilator was pulled entirely from his throat. He tried not to gag, the sudden urge to vomit triggered by the tickle of the thing against the roof of his mouth. 

There was a numbness to his chest he couldn't quite place; a circular disk of something solid taking up far too much room in his ribcage. So strange that it brought forth another bought of coughing. He was terribly sedated, but in his confusion, Peter's hand found the disk, and marveled at its warmth. 

A memory, somewhere deep inside of him: the comfort of this warmth, in a chest other than his own. Tony.

Tony. The figure above him, not the doctor, but his Tony, his Tony. Lost in a sea of medication, he swam to the surface. The image focused in, formed around the man. 

His eyes first found how strangely old he looked, now, as if he had aged right along with them. It killed him that he couldn't quite clear his vision. Tony was a blur, so close, and yet, so incredibly far. The shift of the bed against his hip made the matress lift against his slight frame. A grip of the arm, gentle but firm. 

"I know you cant- wont say anything, bud. I'm just here to sit with you."

The hand held him tighter, then. "You are so, so strong, you know that? Stronger than anybody else I've ever met or known. And I know its hell to wait. To wait for you- for me. Believe me I know. And I haven't been coming here as often as I intended."

Peter's focus shifted. He hadn't been here long, had he? It hadn't felt so long, not at all.

"I've been thinking about all of it, what goes into all this. How it feels, for you. All I've ever known is how it feels for us, out here."

Out where? The room was changing now, real walls morphing into pale yellow. Peter tried his hardest to grip at the thin blanket, to steady himself against the new world.

"I've missed you so much. I just wonder where you are. Where you've been. What you've seen. Who you would be, now. I've wondered, these past ten years, what goes on in that crazy head of yours."

Peter felt a tap at his forehead- strange, because Tony was no longer in view, now. It was dizzying, how the walls shifted, how his breath wasted in his lungs, his chest shrinking in on itself. Peter desperately wanted to function, to breath, but his body refused. He was drowning, skinning down into the murky deep.

"You said you didn't want to go. But I just didnt think it was fair to keep you- to keep you like this. You deserve to wake up somewhere new, somewhere where you can run and swing and play. But I just want you to know, buddy, how much I love you."

Something in Tony's voice alerted Peter that tears were present; quiet but tilted, a strain on his voice. Peter wanted to reach out and hug him, to tell him that all would be fine, and not to cry, but he could not find the breath or the strength in him to try.

"We love you, so, so much, baby."

Peter paused, caught in the deep. He recognized this voice, a lilting softness he knew only to belong to...

But it couldn't be. 

"You are my favorite thing, in the whole world." She was crying, too, and not seeking to bide it. "You always will be. And if you can hear me, I just want you to know that we just want to do the right thing- and this doesn't feel right, I don't think it ever could. We tried out best, Peter."

The waters darkened, oblivion wrapping around him.

"We're here." One voice. Male. Familiar.

"All of us." Another. Female. Familiar.

Voices, ones he'd craved to hear for years. Peter had imagined that death could come with this; an appreciated side affect, perhaps a hallucination, or even a glimpse at coming heaven. 

Yellow light opened beneath his feet, and suddenly, the sinking didn't feel so terribly painful. Arms raising above his head, Peter let himself fall.

It felt like flying, as if gravity could no longer touch him.

There was no bottom. No top. No surface, no water, no up or down. There was only this, a perfect calm. 

"We'll see you again," May's voice promised, compromised by tears. "I promise."

"I love you, Peter." Tony.

"We love you so, so much." Ned and MJ.

Silence.

Then, a clearing of the dark and the light, a separation and space between. A comfort of a bed entirely new. 

This time, there was no struggle to open his eyes. This time, he was here. He was now. He was looking at his family.

"Peter?"

~*~

**Epilogue**

Ten years ago, a young boy died in the arms of his mentor, his father, disintegrating into the wind. 

The snap had taken Peter, along with 4 Billion other innocent lives. And what it had given back, in the end, had not been entirely the same.

Some returned as they were, perfect and unbothered. Others, as Peter, were not so fortunate. A body, brought back, lacking the life it once contained. 

Ten years, set in the same, pale yellow room, body slack, kept alive by tubes and drains and countless medications. 

Visitors circulated. Hands were held. There was love. There was life. There was laughter. There was crying, and devastation, anger, grief. And decisions were made.

Peter knew none of this, and continued living in a world of his own making, lives created by his imagination, lives taken by his nightmares. Some, based on reality; two common visitors, Steve Roger's and Bucky Barnes. The two had married.

Peter's knowledge of this, after he awoke, confused the group terribly. Had he really been able to hear what went on outside the walls of his own mind?

Pepper and Tony had, in fact, gained a set of twins in the last ten years. Many things were quite the same, and others weren't. 

May, MJ, Ned. All gathered round him, ready to hear stories of his dreams in another life. What had it been like, to be inside his own kind for ten years, they wondered. He preferred not to tell them all. 

Upon intending to finally let him go, they had saved his life. They gained no answers as to why, and often reffered to it after as "The Miracle." And maybe it was.

Ten years ago, Peter Parker died.

Today, Peter Parker came back to life, and all was well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided on this ending a bit ago. The idea that Peter could go through so much and get no good ending, it felt unfair. And though I am partial to whump and angsty endings, I decided to let them all be happy in the end. 
> 
> Now, the significance of the arc reactor implanted in his heart, i really enjoyed, cause, even though real world Mcu Peter doesn't have an arc reactor when he wakes up, it signifies having a peice of Tony in his heart. The last and first person he sees before ane after his death. 
> 
> Not everything gets a happy ending, but I felt as if this deserved it. 
> 
> If you ever feel lost in your life, as if there is no way to get out of all the pain, all the trauma that befalls you, just remember this one thing for me.
> 
> You Will Be Found.


End file.
